The oriental deviated from the straight path to cross the road. Without a word he carefully unwrapped a thin paper cover and exposed a letter. It was addressed to “Miss Ursula Ardfern, Stone Cottage,” and on the wrapper Tab saw a number of Chinese characters which he guessed were directions to the messenger. “Tell,” said the man laconically. He evidently knew little English. “That house on the left,” said Tab pointing. “How far have you come, Chink?” “Velly well,” said the man, and taking the letter folded it again in its covering and trotted off. Tab looked after him, wondering. How curious a coincidence, he thought, that they should have been talking about the Chinese only half-an-hour before? He had to run and then only caught the train as it was pulling out of the station. The inexorable and constitutionally discontented news editor was not at all satisfied with the story as Tab wrote it. “It loses half its value if we can’t give her name,” he complained, “and after we’ve started the interest going, the ‘_Herald_’, or some other paper, will find out who is the owner of the jewels and get all the fat of the story! Can’t you persuade her?” Tab shook his head. “What’s the great idea--is she going into a convent or something?” “She didn’t mention it,” said Tab impatiently. “There it is--take it or leave it, Jacques. It is a good item, and if you don’t like it, I’ll take it to the chief.” A threat which invariably ended all discussion, for Tab was an important personage on the staff of the ‘Megaphone’ and his word carried weight. XIII Mr. Stott combined the implacable qualities of the feudal lord with an amiable leaning toward the society and approval of his fellow men. There was a cafe near his office which was extensively patronized by grave business men, directors, bank managers and superior cashiers. The price of luncheon had been scientifically fixed by the proprietor, so that whilst it was within the means of men of substance and standing, it was just beyond the reach of those whose limited incomes did not permit the luxury of lunching at Toby’s, though it was well worth the money to sit at meat with men who had offices labelled “private” and drove to their business in polished limousines. Mr. Stott referred to the wistful folk who passed the door of Toby’s to be swallowed up in less exclusive establishments, as the _hoi polloi_, which he understood was an Italian expression. Toby’s had almost acquired the status of a club. Occasionally, ignorant strangers wandered in to test the gastronomical excellence of the kitchen, and these were usually accommodated in obscure corners away from the hearing of intimate gossip. Mr. Stott had recently become a person to be listened to with respect, and the necessity for keeping the regular patrons of Toby’s aloof from the vulgar herd, was doubly urgent by reason of the very important matters that had to be discussed.