There was a moment’s silence. Then: “I think, perhaps, you are wise!” said my companion. “After all, she probably ran away with some one and is quite happy.” She looked up at me at last. “And I am sure you will regain your capacity for enjoyment.” Her glance lingered a moment, and for the first time I became aware of a queer fascination of which she seemed to have the power. She was undoubtedly a handsome woman, and her long, narrow eyes could express a great deal in a queer, elusive way. “I feel that I am regaining it momentarily,” I answered. I could have taken her and cheerfully choked her for the callous way in which she had referred to my sister, fascination or no fascination, but that would not have advanced my cause at all. I was beginning to be suspicious of every one, and Mrs. Fawcette had been one of the last people to see Margaret. She smiled into my eyes then, a strange, elusive smile that was yet vaguely repellent. “You are pleased to be facetious,” she said. “Indeed, no. Of all interests a human interest is the keenest. And when that interest is beautiful——” I sighed. I felt her hand touch mine for a fleeting instant. “Come,” she answered, “you must not flirt with me on such short acquaintance!” But she smiled into my eyes. “And when our acquaintance is not so short?” I demanded. She rose to her feet and I got up and faced her, “—If you will permit me to lengthen it,” I added. She laughed provocatively. “Why, then we shall see what we shall see,” she answered. She left me then, and presently I took leave of my hostess and came away. I had learned little or nothing either from Mrs. Fawcette or from any one. But I was anything but ill-pleased with my afternoon. For at least I had paved the way for a closer acquaintance with that rather dangerous-looking lady. And I had learned something of interest from the Girl in Gray. My pulses quickened again reminiscently at the thought and I shook myself impatiently. Such things and such thoughts were not for me until I had solved my problem and found Margaret. Larry met me at my door in high excitement. “Sure ’tis glad I am you’re back agin, sor. That there private ’phone’s been ringing like mad fer the last hour. Ivery minute, Misther Moore wants to know are ye back yit. He must have something important to tell ye, sor. There! There it goes again.” I gave my hat, stick and gloves to Larry and hurried into my bedroom. Yes, the tiny ’phone bell was ringing faintly. “Hello, Moore? This is Clayton. You want me?” “At last,” came Moore’s voice over the wire. “You bet I want you. Clayton, I believe we’re on the right track at last!” “How’s that?” “You remember my telling you about the young drunk I met up on Riverside Drive last night?” “Of course!”