"No, sir, this is not Mr. Biddle," came in response to Barry’s swift question. "Mr. Biddle has gone to Baltimore, and will not be back till Sunday afternoon. Do you wish to leave any message, sir?" "No; I’ll call again." Barry clicked the receiver into place with an impatient movement, and sat frowning for a moment on the arm of his chair. Presently his face relaxed. Sunday afternoon was not so very far away, and nothing changed the fact that he had Julian Farr in an exceedingly awkward position. He dressed leisurely, and it was after twelve when he left his room. Breakfast and luncheon were combined that day in one, and he took the meal at the Ritz-Carlton, enjoying the music, entertained by the crowd, and altogether in a more peaceful mood than he had been for some time. Now and again the thought of Shirley Rives—if that were really her name—returned to torment him and make him unhappy, but he did his best to thrust the recollection from his mind, and fancied he had succeeded. He could not help pondering, however, on the one apparently inexplicable feature of the affair. If she were not in the desperate straits she had pretended to be, how was it that she had known anything of Sally Barton? It was possible, of course, that she had taken the name of another person with whom the black-haired stenographer had once been on friendly terms; but still the matter puzzled Barry until he finally gave up thinking of it, and turned his attention to the question of whether or not it would be wise to confide his affairs to Jock Hamersley. He had reached a point where he longed desperately to talk things over with some one, and Jock had seemed, that morning, the only person available. But now, in the light of second thoughts, he began to have grave doubts as to the wisdom of such a step. The Yale man was good nature personified, and had a heart as large as his big body. He had also a total absence of tact in his make-up, and the more Lawrence considered the matter, the more he became certain that he had better keep the nature of Julian Farr’s behavior to himself. This made it necessary, of course, to hit upon something else to take its place, but that was not difficult. After his friend’s kindness of the night before, Barry felt that it was decidedly up to him to do something in return; and, with dinner out of the question, a theater party, with supper afterward, seemed the only alternative. Having come to this decision, Lawrence finished his luncheon slowly, and left the restaurant. He had been too occupied the night before to notice whether the mysterious men had continued to trail him after he left Sherry’s, but they were certainly on the job to-day, and the fact began presently to wear a little on his nerves. A person may be ever so innocent, and still become exasperated when a persistent taxi or an equally persistent man dogs his every movement.