Some time later the traveler, refreshed by his bath, lay back in the luxuriously furnished dormitory of the Riggs’ Turkish Bath and puffed contentedly at his cigar. He paid no attention to three be-sheeted men who were talking together as they lounged at one end of the room. “Who was the pretty girl you were dancing with yesterday afternoon at the Shoreham, Jimmie?” questioned the eldest of the three men. “Janet Fordyce.” Jimmie Painter’s voice was of the carrying kind, and as the name reached his ears the traveler sat bolt upright, but the men, engrossed in their conversation, failed to observe his attention. “A winner, isn’t she, Logan?” continued Jimmie complacently. “Yes, trust you to pick ’em,” grumbled Logan, “and to cultivate them afterwards, too. Who is she?” “Daughter of Calderon Fordyce, the Western importer of----” “Opium--tainted money,” jeered his companion. “What difference? Its buying qualities make it refined gold.” “You weren’t the only one bowled over by the Fordyce girl,” remarked the youngest member of the group. “She made quite an impression on Chichester Barnard.” “Nothing doing there, Cooper!” exclaimed Jimmie Painter skeptically. “Chichester’s not the kind to be attracted by a débutante; besides, he’s too gone on Marjorie Langdon.” “Not so gone he doesn’t keep his weather eye out,” retorted Joe Calhoun-Cooper. “As far as Miss Langdon’s concerned it’s attention without intention. She’s as poor as Job’s turkey.” “I hear she’s crazy about Chichester,” volunteered Logan. “By Jove! if I was first favorite, I’d marry Miss Langdon and risk poverty.” “Too Utopian,” commented Joe. “Better choose a golden ‘Bud’--they are the only kind worth plucking in Washington.” “I agree with you,” put in Jimmie Painter. “Do you suppose old Calderon Fordyce will come across with the money bags when his daughter marries?” “I’m told he’s rolling in wealth,” acknowledged Joe. “But for all that, you’d better go slow, Jimmie; there’s some kink in the family.” “What do you mean?” “An intimate friend said----” Joe never finished the sentence, for an iron hand jerked him to his feet and swung him about face. “I have been an unwilling listener to your conversation,” said the traveler slowly, addressing the astounded men, and not loosening his hold on Joe. “You can congratulate yourselves that you live in Washington; such discussion of women would not be tolerated elsewhere. I give you fair warning, each and all of you, if you mention Miss Fordyce’s name in future conversations I will break every bone in your bodies.” It was no idle threat; the sheet had slipped from the traveler’s broad shoulders, disclosing the brawn and build of an athlete. “You understand me,” he added, his level glance seeking Joe’s, and his vice-like grip tightened until the bones cracked. “Yes, d-mn you!” muttered Joe, through clenched teeth. “Let go.” “Who the ---- are you?” gasped Jimmie, hastily retreating beyond the traveler’s reach.