“Thank you,” I whispered, for I could at least telephone to her in the morning. I stooped and kissed her hand. A moment later the door slammed and the taxi started. A faint “Good-night” floated back to me, and they were gone. As the taxi passed down the street, the man who had been talking to the driver started off at a shambling run and passed around the corner in the same direction that the car had taken. I stopped in my tracks for a moment, wondering. But I could hardly expect to explain the vagaries of such night prowlers, and anyway Larry was with her, and there was nothing I could do, in spite of a sudden vague anxiety at the sight of the running man. I had to get home the quickest way; for it was very late already. Fortunately I found another taxi at the corner and ten minutes later let myself into my new home. My thoughts were full of Natalie on the ride, and she still filled my mind as I opened my bedroom door, switched on the light and closed the door behind me. But as I turned back to the room again, the heavy curtains in front of the window parted once more and a man stepped into the room. “Hands up, Clayton,” he said. And I stood like a dunce and stared into the steady muzzle of a revolver. Chapter XV The Darkest Hour “Wait,” said the new-comer after a moment. “Don’t try anything foolish!” For I had drawn myself together a little, with the idea of risking a dash at him. I stood still, my hands above my head, and waited. “Around my neck,” the stranger went on quickly, “you will observe a little gold chain. And hanging from it there is a tiny golden panther. Have you the mate to it?” I stared at him. Then I slowly lowered my hands. “I have,” I told him. “Let’s see it!” My little symbol, which Moore had given me, hung from a cord around my own neck. I fished inside my shirt, found it and held it out to him. He stepped forward and glanced at it. “Good,” he said, and flung his revolver on my bed. “Now we can talk.” I sat down rather weakly. “Who are you, anyway? And why the hold-up?” “The Chief sent me to replace Moore,” he answered. “And as to the hold-up, look at yourself in the glass. You don’t look much like the Society man I expected to see.” I sat still and looked him over for a moment or two. He was tall and raw-boned and his clothes hung on him in straight lines, like a flag on a still day. A New England type, I thought. But the face was cosmopolitan. It was a long, shrewd face, thin and deeply lined. The eyes were steel blue and set rather close to a thin, aquiline nose. But there were whimsical, mirthful lines radiating away from them, and the mouth held humor and strength both. A man of devious ways, I thought, but a good fellow and a good friend probably. I smiled suddenly.