Moore laughed. “It’s got to be done, Clayton. I’ll be all right. I’ll be talking to you bright and early to-morrow, most likely with a splitting headache. In the meantime, I think you’d better trail me until we get to our destination, wherever that is, hang around a bit, to be sure that we haven’t stopped for a moment only and gone on again, and when you’re satisfied that you’ve found the place, beat it back here again and lie low until I get back. Then we’ll get in touch with Captain Peters and round ’em up with his help. How does that strike you?” “All right,” I answered. “But I still don’t like your going alone.” “Jealous, eh?” answered Moore. “Well, I guess it’ll be some party!” And we all laughed. The rest of that jouncing taxi ride was passed in conjectures and a few final arrangements for that night. I told Moore about the little book which I had found in Vining’s desk. I had intended to bring it with me and show it to him. I had left it on my table for that purpose. But I had not noticed it and had forgotten it in the excitement of Mrs. Fawcette’s visit! We left Moore, finally, at the Plaza, and when we had shaken hands and he had turned away, my last sight of him was a view of his well-groomed back, slipping girlishly through the revolving doors. He never forgot his pose for a moment, except when he was alone with us. I dismissed the taxi a few blocks from the house of Natalie’s aunt, after dropping Larry with instructions to hire the car. Then, as it was getting on for four o’clock, I set out to walk to my appointment for tea with Natalie. On the way I kept a careful look-out for pursuit. But after turning several corners I was convinced that no one was following me. The sight of the house was enough to set my heart pounding, and I bounded up the steps and rang the bell with my mind suddenly flooded with delight at the thought of seeing her. But I was in for a disappointment. “Miss Van Cleef has not yet returned, sir,” the butler told me. “But I believe that Mrs. Trevor is at ’ome. I’ll go and inquire, sir, if you’ll come in.” Yes, Mrs. Trevor was at home. I waited about five peaceful minutes and then Natalie’s aunt, like a full-rigged ship in a heavy sea, came rolling and plunging into her drawing-room and joined action. She was a busy fighter too. Heavy broadsides on the subject of the latest dance, the latest book or the latest play thundered about my ears, interspersed with a lighter but more galling fire of social chit-chat and personal questions from the fighting tops, I was not particularly worried at first, because her aim was poor, and in my anticipative state of mind most of her shots went wide. Besides, I knew that the arrival of reënforcements in the shape of Natalie would put her to rout. That was one of the rules of warfare.