“You bet it does,” said Moore. “Anyhow, I’ll follow it up to-morrow. I’ll try to get in touch with the young rip and wheedle some information out of him. But I knew you’d want to know about it first. Besides, it’s as well to keep in touch with each other’s movements, I think. This young fellow lives on West 44th Street, in the Branscombe. I’ll go up there to-morrow afternoon.” “Right. Good luck!” I answered with a good deal of feeling. “Any news at your end?” Moore inquired. “Not yet,” I told him reluctantly, and we rang off. But, as you shall see, that night marked the end of the overture and the rising of the curtain on the first act of what was to prove a very serious drama. Chapter VI The Girl in Gray The following afternoon I had an engagement for tea with Mrs. Furneau. She had told me to come early, ostensibly because we were to have a quiet talk over some plans for amateur theatricals. But since our second meeting I had made a good deal of an effort to please her, and our friendship was on a more or less intimate basis at this time. It had not been necessary to pretend to much admiration, for Mrs. Furneau was a charming woman. But where Margaret’s fate might be even slightly concerned I had none of the scruples I might otherwise have felt. Therefore, I had made my admiration for the lady more evident than was perhaps necessary, hoping for the time when our growing intimacy might give me the opportunity to question her suddenly about my sister and possibly learn something, if there were anything to learn, for my former suspicion of her had somehow faded, as I knew her better. So, about half-past three, I pulled myself together, assumed a most cynical and disillusioned expression, and set forth for her house. Our conversation that afternoon, before the arrival of her other guests, was of a more or less personal nature and consisted mainly of subtleties, of which the lady was a past mistress. Once, however, she referred to the subject never absent from my thoughts: “Jack,” she said, after a pause and speaking a little wistfully, I thought, “have you really given up all hope of finding your sister?” She reached out and touched my hand delicately, to soften the reminder if she could. I nodded. “What’s the use? I’ve looked everywhere and it’s hopeless. Don’t let’s talk about it. Don’t worry about it, but let me go to the devil in my own way.” I smiled bitterly. I glanced away from her, but when I looked back again her eyes were on me with a keenness of scrutiny that I had never seen before in them. There was a little furrow between her pretty brows too. But she contented herself with—“It doesn’t seem like you, somehow.” “Perhaps not!” I retorted. “But when there isn’t a single shred of a trace to go on, what can I do?”