Jock remembered his friend’s description perfectly, and, moreover, recalled Barry’s having said that he was the identical man who had sat next to them at the Belmont café. There could be no mistake. This was, indeed, the man, and Hamersley’s first feeling was one of infinite regret that the chance they had been seeking should come when Lawrence was not on hand to take advantage of it. On the heels of that, however, came a swift determination to work the trick alone. He could do it if only he kept his head and handled the situation cleverly. He would do it, and give Barry the surprise of his life. With a tremendous effort to keep his voice casual and careless, he plunged into the game. "I see," he said. "But what gave you the idea that I could tell you anything about him?" "Mr. Marvin said he belonged to a college club on Forty-fourth Street," the unknown returned glibly. "When I asked for him back there, they said he wasn’t a member, but that he sometimes came in with you. That’s what made me hustle out after you. I want to get rid of the thing and beat it home to supper." His easy tone was most convincing, and, had he not been perfectly sure of his identification, Jock would never have dreamed that anything was out of the way. For a second he hesitated, digging into his brain for some plausible means of finding out more. Unfortunately Jock’s brain was of the slow-moving variety which so often accompanies big, brawny bodies, and nothing occurred to him. "Sorry I can’t help you," he said at last; "but I haven’t an idea where he is now. He’s going to meet me at the Yale Club at half past eight or so. Why don’t you come around then and see him?" "Half past eight! I can’t hang around till then. Still, I suppose I’ll have time to get supper and come down afterward, won’t I?" "I should think so," Hamersley returned, with an affectation of indifference he was far from feeling. "I’ll do it," the stranger said decidedly, thrusting the letter into his pocket. "Half past eight, you say? Much obliged for the information." With a quick nod, which Jock returned, he started briskly up the avenue, leaving the Yale man staring, helplessly after him in a perfect agony of indecision. He wanted to follow the fellow, and yet he realized how utterly futile such a thing would be. The man would be wise to the game before he had gone a block, and that would probably spoil everything. What should he do? What could he do? The man was rapidly getting away from him, and Hamersley fairly danced on the pavement as he tried frantically to think. It was at this moment that he caught sight of "Shrimp" Bradley briskly crossing the avenue. *CHAPTER XL.* *THE OPEN DOOR.*