Elk, who was never self-conscious, walked through the dancers and reached Mr. Johnson, who looked up startled and shook hands with the vigour of one rescued from a desert island. “It was good of you to ask me to come over,” said Johnson, as he greeted Dick. “This is new to me, and I’m feeling about as much at home as a chicken in a pie.” “Your first visit?” “And my last,” said Johnson emphatically. “This isn’t the kind of life that I care for. It interferes with my reading, and it—well, it’s sad.” His eyes were fixed on a noisy little party in the opposite alcove. Gordon had seen them almost as soon as he had sat down. Ray, in his most hectic mood, Lola Bassano, beautifully and daringly gowned, and the heavy-looking ex-pugilist, Lew Brady. Presently, with a sigh, Johnson’s eyes roved toward the old man and remained fixed on him, fascinated. “Isn’t it a miracle?” he asked in a hushed voice. “He changes his habits in a day! Bought the house in Berkeley Square, called in an army of tailors, sent me rushing round to fix theatre seats, bought jewellery . . .” He shook his head. “I can’t understand it,” he confessed, “because it has made no difference to him in the office. He’s the same old hog. He wanted me to become his resident secretary, but I struck at that. I must have some sort of life worth living. What scares me is that he may fire me if I don’t agree. He’s been very unpleasant this week. I wonder if Ray has seen him?” Ray Bennett had not seen his late employer. He was too completely engrossed in the joy of being with Lola, too inspired and stimulated from more material sources, to take an interest in anything but himself and the immediate object of his affections. “You are making a fool of yourself, Ray. Everybody is looking at you,” warned Lola. He glanced round, and for the first time began to notice who was in the room. Presently his eyes fell upon the shining pate of Mr. Maitland, and his jaw dropped. He could not believe the evidence of his vision, and, rising, walked unsteadily across the floor, shouldering the other guests, stumbling against chairs and tables, until he stood by the table of his late employer. “Gosh!” he gasped. “It _is_ you!” The old man raised his eyes slowly from the cloth which he had been contemplating steadily for ten minutes, and his steely eyes met the gaze steadily. “You hoary old sinner!” breathed Ray. “Go away,” snarled Mr. Maitland. “‘Go away,’ is it? I’m going to talk to you and give you a few words of advice and warning, Moses!” Ray sat down suddenly in a chair, and faced his glaring victim with drunken solemnity. His words of warning remained unuttered. Somebody gripped his arm and jerked him to his feet, and he looked into the dark face of Lew Brady. “Here, what——” he began. But Brady led him and pushed him back to his own table. “You fool!” he hissed. “Why do you want to advertise yourself in this way? You’re a hell of a Secret Service man!”