"Why, I’ve known him ever since I came to New York. I wanted to invest some money—I didn’t know any one else; and then, he was very—friendly; wanted to make some money for me. That’s how it was." "Hello," said Beecher. "Is that you, Bruce? It’s I—Ted." "Where the deuce have you been?" said the voice at the other end. "I’ve been trying to get you all over town." "You have?" "You bet I have; McKenna’s turned up a real clue—wants to see you at once. Pick me up here at the club, will you?" "All right. But say, Bruce, I want you to do something for me. Find out all you can about Garraboy—you know, the fellow we spoke about. Has he been on the wrong side of the market or not? Understand? It’s important." "I’ll do it. Anything else?" "Yes. A friend of mine has some stocks with him, about twenty thousand worth—you see the situation—and she’s a little bit worried. Can’t get any satisfaction." "Wants ’em back?" "Yes. What’s the best way to do?" "Um! Get a transfer to you and call for them tomorrow." "Of course; see you later." He put down the telephone and turned gaily to his companion, who was waiting with anxiety. "That’s all right. Bruce will get the information and I’ll telephone you this evening. Now, the best way to operate is this." He took out his check-book and wrote a check for twenty thousand dollars to her name. "I’ll buy those stocks. Here’s my check; give me an acknowledgment for the shares, with an order on Garraboy to deliver." She looked at him doubtfully, holding the check gingerly in her fingers. "What’s the matter?" he said. "If there’s any little difference one way or the other, we can arrange that later." "Supposing Garraboy has failed and sold my stocks?" "He hasn’t." "But if he has?" "That’s my risk," he started to say, but checked himself. "Why, of course, then it’s off. This is just to give me the power to get them away at once. A man can do what a woman can’t." She was grateful to him for his perception of delicacy. "On that basis, yes," she said. Then she stopped and looked at him with a whimsical but favoring smile. "As it is, Teddy, what do you know of me to take even this chance?" The opening was too direct. She saw it at once, and, to forestall his answer, said more lightly: "It is a great service. Tell me what to write." As she was drawing up the paper under his directions, a placid, emotionless woman of forty entered from the rear. "That Mr. Hargrave is here, Nan dear," she said. "You gave him an appointment, you know." "Mrs. Tilbury, my companion," said Miss Charters. "Very well; in a moment." Mrs. Tilbury passed patiently out to deliver the message. Beecher was delighted with the correctness and cold respectability of such a chaperon.