"Glad I caught you, Ted," he remarked, ignoring Rodgers' curt manner. Not waiting for an invitation, he stepped into the apartment and walked through the short hall into the large room which served Rodgers as a combination living and dining room. "I came to apologize for my surly behavior in Craige's office this morning, old man." "Your apology is due to Miss Baird rather than to me," replied Rodgers stiffly. "I spoke in haste--without thought," Potter admitted amiably. "Let's drop the matter, Ted. Can you dine with us to-night? I'll get Kitty to come also." "I have an engagement to-night, thanks." Potter's florid complexion turned a warmer tint and he averted his gaze so that Rodgers might not detect the sudden rage which his eyes betrayed. "Sorry; but you'll come some other time, perhaps," he mumbled. "Nina's greatly interested in hearing of all that you have done for Kitty." "I--done for her?" Rodgers turned and eyed his companion sharply. Potter had perched himself on the end of the lounge with the evident intention of remaining, and was leisurely rolling a cigarette. "Sure--you have accomplished a great deal for Kitty," Potter affirmed with emphasis. "You found the will which gave her a fortune. To put it poetically, the beggar maid is now an heiress and a prey to fortune hunters." Rodgers' eyes blazed. "Your remarks are offensive," he exclaimed. Potter straightened up. "Are you trying to fasten a quarrel on me?" he demanded hotly. "I intend to make you speak more respectfully of Miss Baird," retorted Rodgers, his anger at white heat. "If that means a fight--well, I'm ready," and he tossed the red coat on the nearest chair to have his hands free. Potter's big frame relaxed against the cushioned back of the lounge as he forced a laugh. "You are too damned quick to take offense," he protested. "Why, Kitty's my cousin. I'd be the first to take her part." "And yet you insinuate--" "Nothing," with a patience meant to exasperate. "What are you doing with Kitty's red coat?" Rodgers met the unexpected question with unmoved countenance. "You are mistaken," he said. "It is not Miss Baird's coat." "It isn't?" Potter's rising inflection expressed doubt. "Let me see it?" And he reached forward a grasping hand. With a quick movement Rodgers pulled the coat beyond Potter's reach. The next second he was staggering backward from a crashing blow delivered as Potter, who had gathered himself for a spring, swung forward upon his feet. Rage at the treacherous attack was a stimulant to Rodgers and he met Potter's second onslaught with a swift right-hander. The scientist was no easy antagonist and for the moment he had the better of the rough and tumble fight; then as the younger man got his second wind he gave back and Rodgers pinned him against the wall. "You yellow dog!" Rodgers half sobbed the words in his rage as he shifted his grip to the man's throat.