Lutchester changed his place to a vacant chair by James Van Teyl's side. "I was going to ask you, Mr. Van Teyl," he inquired, "whether your Japanese servant was altogether a success? I think I shall have to get a temporary servant while I am over here." "Nikasti was entirely Fischer's affair," Van Teyl replied, "and I can't say much about him as I have given up my share of the apartments at the Plaza. The fellow's all right, I dare say, but we hadn't the slightest use for a valet. The man on the floor's good enough for any one." "By the bye," Lutchester inquired, "is Fischer still in New York?" "No, he's in Washington," Van Teyl replied. "I believe he's expected back to-morrow.... Say, can I ask you a question?" Lutchester almost imperceptibly drew his chair a little closer. "Of course you can," he assented. "What I want to know," Van Teyl continued confidentially, "is how you get that long run on your cleek shots? I saw you play the sixteenth hole, and it looked to me as though the ball were never going to stop." Lutchester smiled. "I have made a special study of that shot," he confided. "Yes, I can tell you how it's done, but it needs a lot of practice. It's done in turning over the wrists sharply just at the moment of impact. You get everything there is to be got into the stroke that way, and you keep the ball low, too." "Gee, I must try that!" Van Teyl observed, making spasmodic movements with his wrists. "When could we have a day down at Baltusrol?" "It will have to be next week, I'm afraid, if you don't mind," Lutchester replied. "I've a good many appointments in New York, and I may have to go to Washington myself. By the bye, I thought our host lived there." "So he does," Van Teyl assented. "Nowadays, though, it seems to have become the fashion for politicians to own a house up in New York and do some entertaining here. They're after the financial interest, I suppose." "Is your uncle a keen politician?" "Keen as mustard," Van Teyl answered. "So's my aunt. She'd give her soul to have the old man nominated for the Presidency." "Any chance of it?" "Not an earthly! He'll come a mucker, though, some day, trying. He'd take any outside chance. For a clever man he's the vainest thing I know." Lutchester smiled enigmatically as he followed the example of the others and rose to his feet. "Even in America, then," he observed, "your great men have their weaknesses." CHAPTER XXIII Fischer, exactly one week after his nocturnal visit to Fourteenth Street, hurried out of the train at the Pennsylvania Station, almost tore the newspapers from the news stand, glanced through them one by one and threw them back. The attendant, open-mouthed, ventured upon a mild protest. Fischer threw him a dollar bill, caught up his handbag, and made for the entrance. He was the first passenger from the Washington Limited to reach the street and spring into a taxi. "The Plaza Hotel," he ordered. "Get along."