“Good day, Mr. Tully. I thank you. And don't forget my offer.” Mr. Merriwether bowed as the door closed on Mr. William Tully and then, walking like a man in a trance, returned to his private office. He rang the push-button marked No. 1, and when McWayne appeared turned a haggard face to his private secretary. “McWayne, that reporter has a story of Tom's engagement, but he wouldn't tell me who the girl is.” “I don't believe it!” cried McWayne, with a not very intelligent intention of comforting his chief. At times the male Irish mind works femininely. “Neither do I--and yet I do. It confirms Dr. Frauenthal's diagnosis. I guess he knows his business, after all. Well, the story will not be published yet. He acted pretty decently.” McWayne wondered how much it had cost the old man, but he said, “Didn't he intimate--” “That reporter knows his business,” cut in E. H. Merriwether. “He ought to be a dramatist. Have you heard from your men?” “Yes, sir. Tom has gone to Boston. Two of them are with him. He suspects nothing.” “What else?” “They will let me know by long distance if anything happens.” “If anything! Great Scott! isn't it enough that--Let me hear what they report--on the instant!” “Yes, sir.” “And, McWayne--” He hesitated. McWayne, his face full of sincere solicitude, prompted, gently: “Yes, chief?” It was the first time he had ever used that word. It made his speech so friendly, so affectionately personal, that E. H. Merriwether said: “Thank you, McWayne. I wish you would find out for me at once who lives in 777 Fifth Avenue.” “Yes, sir,” said McWayne. “That's where--” He caught himself. . “I am afraid so!” acquiesced the railroad czar, listlessly. VIII Within an hour McWayne walked into the private office. His chief closed his jaws--a weaker man would have clenched his fists--in anticipation. “Breese & Silliman, the real-estate men, say they rented 777 Fifth Avenue, furnished, to a Madam Calderon--an American woman, widow of a Peruvian nitrate king. She came up here and asked Breese about a suitable location. She has a daughter she wishes to marry in America. She talked quite freely about her affairs. The house was for sale, but she leased if, furnished, with privilege of purchase. Belongs to the Martin-Schwenk Construction Company. The daughter is about thirty, dark, Spanish-looking, and fleshy; rather--er--inclined to make googoo eyes, as Breese says, in a kind of foreign way.” “Go on,” commanded E. H. Merriwether. “Mrs. Calderon said point-blank that she wished her daughter to marry a nice young man of wealth and position, preferably a blond. I gather that the agents were rather anxious to let the house and probably encouraged her. She has paid quarterly in advance, and her banking references are O. K.; but nothing about her personally is known to any one. That's all I could get.” “Very well. Thank you, McWayne.”