“I tell you what you want--exercise! You want to walk and you want to swing clubs and you’ll soon be all right. You are so confined that you have a superfluous energy which your work does not exhaust. If you spend it on exercise, it will make you a happier and stronger girl.” Dido showed a little resentment. It always disgusts a woman to have her romantic feelings dissected in a matter-of-fact manner. Having reached Washington Square, she bade Richard good-bye and went on her way to her humble home. Richard walked along North Washington Square until he came to the house where he expected to find the man who had taken Lucille Williams from her home. He went up one flight of stairs to Tolman Bike’s apartments, and knocked on the door on which was tacked Mr. Bike’s visiting card. In a moment the door was opened, and the man he knew as Mr. Clarke stood before him. “Mr. Bike,” said Richard, with emphasis on the name, “I must speak with you alone.” Richard spoke imperatively and at the same moment stepped inside. Mr. Bike looked as ill as the day he fell against the Hoffman House bar. He silently motioned Dick to enter the first room leading off the private hall in which they stood. Closing and locking the door he followed. Richard seated himself in an easy chair, unasked. Mr. Bike sat down before a richly-carved desk, littered with packages of letters and photographs, which apparently he had been engaged in assorting and destroying, for bundles of them were slowly smouldering in the open grate. The room was very handsome, and Richard viewed it with appreciation. There was a large open grate and above the low, wide mantle was a cabinet containing, in the centre, a French plate mirror, and on the brackets fine bits of bric-a-brac. The floor was richly carpeted, the walls were hung with fine paintings, while near the portieres, draped just far enough back to give a picturesque perspective view of a suite of rooms as cosy in the rear, was an alabaster statue of The Diver and another of Paul and Virginia. A Mexican _serape_, quaintly colored, was thrown over a low lounge, before which lay a white fur rug. At one side was a little, square breakfast table, with curiously turned legs, and near it a half side-board, half cabinet, attractively filled with exquisite dishes, a few solid silver pieces and crystal glasses, backed up by long-necked bottles of liquids to fill them. Mr. Bike had removed his coat and waistcoat and had on a little embroidered jacket. He did indeed have an unhealthy pallor, and Dick noticed that the hand with which he toyed with a carved paper-cutter shook violently.