"Aw, he is, is he?" echoed Peterson. His personality waked up secretively, like that of some weak, night animal hiding in a wood. Clo eyed him, striving to make him out. "Better go home, kiddy," he advised. His tone was good-natured. "Shall I see you back to where you live, or----" "I have another errand to do," the girl announced with dignity. She had meant to telephone from the Westmorland to the Dietz, and learn if Justin O'Reilly was in; but now she determined not to do so. Better waste a little time rather than Peterson should hear her inquiring for O'Reilly. Instead of waiting to telephone, she walked to the door and asked a half-baked youth in hotel livery to call her a taxi. "If ferret-face tries to follow I'll lead him a dance!" she thought. But ferret-face seemed to read her mind, and be willing to relieve it. "So long!" he said. "I've got a job o' work, too. It will take me till about ten. After that I shall be lookin' for a call from you or her ladyship." He turned his back and sauntered to the elevator. Before the taxi had arrived he had been shot up to regions above. "So that's all right!" Clo muttered to herself, spinning toward the Dietz. Yet, as she said the words, she wondered if it _was_ all right. Why had Peterson's whole personality made a kind of "lightning change" on hearing that Sands (whom he expressed a wish to see) would not be at home that night? Ought she to 'phone to Beverley and put her on guard? Yes, she would telephone from the Dietz, while waiting to see O'Reilly. It would be safe, because Roger by this time should be far away. X THE BLUFF THAT WON Justin O'Reilly had a modest suite in the magnificent Dietz. It adjoined the luxurious suite of Mr. and Mrs. John Heron, and consisted of a small sitting-room, a bedroom, and bath. He was tying his necktie when the telephone bell rang. He grabbed the receiver as if it were a snake that had to be throttled, and gave it a grudging "Hello!" "A lady to see you," a voice answered. "She wasn't told I'm in, I hope? A nice thing for a well-regulated hotel if----" "No, but she says it's important. She's Miss O'Reilly." Miss O'Reilly! The man of that name was perplexed. The only Miss O'Reilly who, as far as he knew, could possibly call on him, was the last woman he would have expected to do so. He had come to New York largely in the hope of seeing her. She had refused to see him. "Tell her I'll be down in three minutes," he replied. "She particularly doesn't want you to come down. She says she has some private news for you, and asks if you'll see her in your own sitting-room." "All right," he tried to answer calmly. "Have the lady shown up."