"I think you've done enough. And I'm grateful. I haven't got the least idea as to reasons--but I'm grateful." "I'll be at the Lotus Room if you want me." Daphne picked up her coat, smiled at Lee, and started toward the door. As she extended her hand toward the knob, Lee said, "Just one more thing." She turned. "Yes?" "Before I passed out, there was something this Clifford said. Something about my being ready to meet the man with the golden eyes. What kind of gibberish was that?" Daphne hesitated. For the first time, she seemed at a loss for an answer. Lee asked, "Was it just my imagination?" "No." "What did he mean?" "Just what he said, I'm sure." Lee smothered his exasperation. "All right--then who _is_ the man with the golden eyes?" Daphne regarded Lee with a sort of impersonal fondness. "Someone I'm sure you will meet very, very soon." She left before Lee could get in another question. He sat on the edge of the bed staring moodily at his coffee cup. "She cured my headache," he muttered, "but I've got a hunch this guy with the golden eyes is going to bring it right back again...." * * * * * There was a complete new wardrobe on a chair by the bed, but Lee--loaded down as he was by unanswered questions--refused to wonder where it had come from. As he showered, towelled and dressed, his thoughts were centered upon Mr. Clifford to the exclusion of all else. Mr. Clifford. Who was he? Why had he done all this? A devious plot of International Electronics to get one Lee Hayden back on his feet and on the job again? Lee thought not. Two points stood against this idea. First, International had definitely charged him off. Second, granted they were having a last try, their procedure would in no way resemble the mad pattern of Mr. Clifford. Then what lay behind this? Was it the amused gesture of a dilettante philanthropist? No. There was something about this Clifford that put him a cut above that. He was no idle operator. There was purpose involved. But what purpose? Daphne had told him he would probably never see Mr. Clifford again. So how could he ever make any sense out of what had transpired in the last few hours? As Lee snatched up his key and headed for the lobby, he told himself, _She put her hands on my forehead and the headache was gone instantly. Or did I really have a headache?_ The clerk nodded deferentially. Lee faced him behind his old shield of belligerence. "My name is Lee Hayden." "I know, sir." "I was in room 1106." The clerk nodded. "Who rented it for me?" "Why, Mr. Clifford, sir. I thought you knew." "I just wanted to find out if _you_ knew." Lee tossed down his key. "I'm going out." "Certainly, sir." "Well?" "Well, what, sir?" "The bill. Don't people pay to stay here--or is it a charity institution?" "Oh, no sir. We are not a charity institution. But your bill was paid for by--" "I know--by Mr. Clifford." Lee scowled and strode out into the street.