But far greater than this was his grievance over the amazing metamorphosis of the graceful and negligent Moore. The glimpse Larry had caught of him, standing, smoking revolver in hand, over the dead man, had upset Larry’s calculations completely. He seemed to take it rather as a personal affront that this gentle soul should turn into a killer like that, behind his back. Perhaps the way Moore had ordered him out of the room afterwards had something to do with it. However, I left him in charge of everything, and even commissioned him to wander about the city where his fancy led, to see whether he could pick up any clews. From a study of portraits and photographs, he had long since impressed my sister’s face on his memory, and he knew by heart the details of the dress she wore that day. This and his post in command of the fort, as it were, cheered him up a bit. I left him finally resigned and whistling over his revolver. Personally, I felt considerably more cheerful that morning than I had felt for a long time. In the strain and fatigue of endless search, questing here, there, and wherever impulse led, I had had no time to brood over the fact that I was doing it alone. I had been in some pretty tight corners in my search, where, I believe now, only fixity of purpose had pulled me through. I had not realized this at the time. But I am naturally rather of a peaceful disposition; I had my fill of fighting with the Lafayette Esquadrille during the war and had no desire for further excitement. So the new sense I had this morning of companionship, encouragement and backing waiting for me ahead put new heart into me. I felt somehow that things had taken a turn for the better in my quest. And I was filled with an even greater determination to see the thing through, however long it took and whatever happened. But for all this, I think it was as well that I could not see what lay ahead for me in the weeks to come. I could find no one to meet me when I reached the rendezvous which Moore had designated. As I paused irresolute at the curb edge, a workman, lounging against a lamp-post and sucking on a dry cutty pipe, leisurely uncrossed his legs and sauntered up to me. “Say, Mister, got a match on ye?” said he. I handed him my box rather absently. But as he struck a match and stooped to light his pipe, he moved a little closer to me as though to shelter the flame. “Your cab’s across the way, sir,” he whispered. “At the corner, there. The driver knows.” A moment later he straightened up and flipped away the match. “Much obliged, Mister,” he said. Then he handed me the box of matches and sauntered back to his lamp-post.