Listlessly he turned downtown, wondering what under the sun men of leisure did with their time. Somehow, the glamour which had enveloped him for the past few days was beginning to wear away. Once more he was desperately tired of doing nothing but lunch and dine and evade detectives. He wondered pettishly whether the man in black had been captured yet and taken back to his asylum, for it seemed impossible that any sane person could have acted in such an extraordinary manner. There were the detectives, to be sure; but perhaps they were all of a piece with the rest of the bewildering jumble. There seemed to be no reason or sense to what anybody did. They were probably all mad. Lawrence was, in short, at odds with himself and the world. He would have given a lot to come face to face with some one he could sail into and pummel with all his might. It would be such a relief now to run into that smart Alec who had decoyed him to the house on Twenty-fourth Street last night. Happily the mood did not long continue. An hour’s brisk, almost feverish, walking brought with it a more sane outlook on life. When Barry strayed into a café on Times Square about half past three, more for lack of any other method of passing the time than from any real desire for refreshment, he had quite recovered his poise. He was making for a little table in the corner, when suddenly a hand clutched his coat and a vaguely familiar voice sounded in his ear. "I say, Oscar, sit down here, unless you’re too bally proud to be seen with me." It was the Englishman who had puzzled him so at the dance at Sherry’s, and for an instant Barry frowned. Then, struck by a sudden impulse, he smiled and dropped down in a chair opposite the other. The fellow didn’t look like a bad sort, and he was sorely enough in need of diversion. "Why should I be ashamed to be seen with you?" he asked lightly. "Where did you ever get that idea?" The tall man’s blue eyes widened. "Where’d I get it?" he echoed, in surprise. "Why, at that blooming dance, to be sure. You wouldn’t speak to me then, old chap." Lawrence tapped the bell. "I beg your pardon, then," he said. "I was worried, and not really myself. What’ll you have?" When the waiter had taken their orders and departed, the Englishman screwed his monocle into his eye and sat regarding his companion for a minute in silence. "Jolly glad of that," he said solemnly, at length. "Didn’t seem like you to throw an old friend down. I couldn’t understand it. Sure you weren’t thinking of the bally rotten way I was forced to leave Cambridge, old chap?" "Positive," Lawrence returned promptly. "I’d forgotten all about it." He hesitated an instant, and then went on at random: "Of course, that wasn’t your fault, you know."