“Me--oh, about the same, my Peter,” he said with a smile. Peter looked round with an extravagant show of caution. “Any difference since I was there?” he whispered. “I think C. Hall has been repainted,” said Amber gravely. Peter shook his head in depreciation. “I don’t suppose I’d know the place now,” he said regretfully; “is the Governor’s room still off A. Hall?” Amber made no reply other than a nod. The little man poured out the tea, and handed a cup to the visitor. “Peter,” said Amber, as he stirred the tea slowly, “where can I stay?” “Here?” Peter’s face lit up and his voice was eager. Amber nodded. “They’re after you, are they?” the other demanded with a chuckle. “You stay here, my boy. I’ll dress you up in the finest disguise you ever saw, whiskers an’ wig; I’ll smuggle you down to the river, an’ we’ll get you aboard----” Amber laughed. “Oh, my Peter!” he chuckled. “Oh, my law-breaker! No, it’s not the police--don’t look so sad, you heartless little man--no, I’m avoiding criminals--real wicked criminals, my Peter, not petty hooks like me, or victims of circumstance like you, but men of the big mob--top-hole desperadoes, my Peter, worse than Denver Dick or Michigan Mike or Settler Sam, or any of those gallant fellows.” Peter pointed an accusing finger. “You betrayed ’em, an’ they’re after you,” he said solemnly. “They’ve sworn a vendetta----” Amber shook his head. “I’m after them,” he corrected, “and the vendetta swearing has been all on my side. No, my Peter, I’m Virtuous Mike--I’m the great detective from Baker Street, N.W. I want to watch somebody without the annoyance of their watchin’ me.” Peter was interested. His eyes gleamed through his spectacles, and his hands trembled in his excitement. “I see, I see,” he nodded vigorously. “You’re going to frusterate ’em.” “‘Frusterate’ is the very word I should have used,” said Amber. CHAPTER IV LAMBAIRE NEEDS A CHART Lambaire had an office in the city, where he conducted a business. No man knew what the business was. There was a brass plate on the door which offered no solution other than that-- J. LAMBAIRE (and at Paris) might be found within. He had callers, wrote and received letters, and disappeared at odd intervals, whither none knew, though “and at Paris” might be a plausible explanation. Some said he was an agent, a vague description which might mean anything; others, a financier, though optimistic folk, with airy projects, requiring a substantial flotation, were considerably disappointed to find he had no money to spare for freakish and adventurous promotions. So many strange people had offices in the city, with no apparent object, that Lambaire’s business did not form the subject of too close an inquiry.