"Thanks--I appreciate it," said Justin. There was a long, rather awkward pause. Then Chandler cleared his throat and said, "I suppose Marie will trap Jack Fellowes next. Too bad--he's not a bad apple." "There are worse around." Chandler stood up, cut at the carpet with his cane. He remarked without looking up, "From what Marie tells me you seem to have come up with a rather remarkable young woman. You wouldn't mind telling me how it happened?" "If I hadn't decided to turn in early," said Justin, "and if I hadn't used a certain mental device to go back to sleep after you woke me up with your call from the party...." He stopped and shook his head helplessly. "You wouldn't believe me if I did explain it." "Eh? Well, probably not--but I hope you'll ask me around for a drink when you get settled." "You'll be the very first," Justin assured him warmly. Henri Dubois was ushered in shortly after Devereux Chandler left. This time he came alone. Justin asked him where Miss Forrester was as he got his visitor seated. Dubois replied, "She had to go away this morning on a long trip." "A very fascinating woman," said Justin, lighting a smoke. Then, "Mr. Dubois, I can't offer any assurance that we'll be able to give you and your movement the backing you want. But I can tell you this--I shall do everything in my power to see that you get it." Henri Dubois extended a warm hand across the desk, said, "Mr. Justin, that's good enough for me." Justin left early that afternoon. With his job safe and Dubois taken care of there was nothing to keep him at his desk. He paused briefly by the entrance to the Park Street Subway station to eye the vast expanse of the modern city and compare it with the snowbound panorama he had viewed from almost the same spot a few hours--or was it two centuries?--earlier. It seemed strangely like the dream he had, for awhile, believed it to be. But Deborah was awaiting him at the Ritz. He began to walk faster. So it hadn't been a dream at all. And, perhaps, he really had saved the world from a savage and sudden retrogression from which it could scarcely have recovered. He had had to lose his sanity to do it--for no man in love is sane, he told himself. But Deborah was awaiting him at the Ritz. He crossed Charles Street, entered the Public Gardens. And it occurred to him that perhaps he hadn't outwitted Ortine. Perhaps his behavior was carefully plotted as part of some far subtler scheme. He wondered. But Deborah was awaiting him at the Ritz.