“Very well,” returned the secretary, thinking of the probable difference between the expected books and those they would replace. “Do you mind, Mr Trask, if I take a few of these old ones myself? I’ll pay you whatever price a first class dealer sets on them.” “Oh, take what you want, without pay. I’m in a good humor today, Lockwood, better take advantage of it. Help yourself from the shelves.” “Thank you, I’ll not impose on your kindness and generosity.” Nor did he, but among the few volumes he chose was the crimson stained copy of Martial’s Epigrams. Distasteful though it was, Lockwood looked at the book with a feeling of reverence and opened the volume at the page that had last held the interest of its owner’s scholarly mind. The crimson stain completely obscured the print, but Lockwood gazed long at the defaced page. “I wonder,” he said to himself, “if a crack detective could get anything from this. There’s that Stone, Mercer is always raving over—I suppose he’s terribly expensive—yet this strange case might intrigue him—and yet—there’s Anita to be considered. If it should turn the tide against her—” Later that afternoon, Trask went out again and Lockwood seized his chance. Calling Anita at the Adams house, he said, “Listen, dear, you needn’t say anything but yes or no, and then no one will understand.” “All right,” came the reply. “I’ve just about come to the conclusion I’ll get a clever detective and put him on the case. I mean a real detective—in fact, Fleming Stone.” “Oh, no!” Anita’s voice was one of utter dismay. “Why not?” “I—I can’t tell you this way! You said—” “So I did. Well, here, I’ll ask questions. Don’t you want me to do this?” “No!” very emphatically. “You’d rather I wouldn’t?” “Very much rather.” “Because you fear ill effects to yourself?” “Yes.” “You are sure you’re not overestimating the danger of that?” “I am sure.” “Then there’s no more to be said. Good-by.” Lockwood hung up the receiver, and turned around to see Trask frowning at him. “So that’s the way you and Miss Austin whip the devil around the stump!” “That’s the way,” returned Lockwood, coolly. “She promised not to see you alone—is this how she keeps the letter of her promise and breaks it in spirit?” “Leave her out of this. I called her up, she did not call me.” “All the same. Now, I gather from the interesting talk I overheard that Miss Austin does not wish to have Fleming Stone take up this case.” “You are at liberty to gather anything you choose.” “See here, Lockwood, you make a mistake when you try to antagonize me. I’d be a better friend to you than an enemy.” “I’ve no reason to want you for either.” Lockwood was by no means impertinent, he merely spoke indifferently. Trask noted this, and went on, more suavely: “Now, my dear Lockwood, what I propose to do now, is to employ Fleming Stone myself.”