"No, I'm serious. How would you describe me if you had to?" "Honest, I don't know." "Come now, you're a great reader of character. You're always studying people, and trying to figure them out to yourself." "Am I?" said Jack. He had a sudden idea. "They say there's more character in people's hands than in anything else," he said carelessly. "Read mine," she said, extending a white and tapering member. It was the left hand she offered. "It must always be the right hand." She gave it him. "I'll read character until the cows come home if you'll let me hold it." "Go on. And no nonsense." "Have you ever operated a typewriter?" he asked slyly. "No. Why do you ask?" she asked sharply. "Oh, nothing. This hand looks to be capable of anything." "But my character?" "Ambitious, luxury-loving and cruel," he began mockingly. She snatched the hand away. "Horrible! You're no character-reader!" But he had had time to see what he was looking for: on the inside of the index finger was a large pale mole, as big as the button on a woman's glove. 13 Though it was near morning when they turned in, Jack was astir early, eager to begin the real work on his case. His surprising identification of Miriam as the former spy on Silas Gyde whetted his zeal. Her present game of course was to secure the supposed millionaire in the bonds of matrimony. Was the Red Gang behind that, or was it a private venture? Jack was inclined to think it was all part of the same scheme. In either case Mrs. Cleaver, notwithstanding her social position, must be Miriam's confederate. It was Mrs. Cleaver who had picked them up. This put the game on a pretty high level. Almost every hour of the past two days had made Jack's problem more complicated--but also more fascinating. When he was dressed, Jack mercilessly awoke the luxurious Bobo. "Oh, Lord!" groaned the plump youth. "Do I have to get up?" "You can sleep all day if you like. But we have to have a little talk before I go out. Sit up and rub the sleep out of your eyes and pay attention." Bobo obeyed, groaning lugubriously. "It's about Miss Miriam Culbreth." "Eh?" said Bobo, suddenly wide awake. "Do you remember all you told me about her last night?" "Of course I do." "Doesn't it seem a little foolish to you this morning?" "No, it doesn't! She's the most beautiful girl in the world. I love her more than ever!" "Well, I'm sorry. I didn't take you very seriously last night. I thought it was too sudden. You've got to cut her out." "Why?" asked Bobo blankly. Jack deliberated before answering. He decided against telling Bobo the whole truth. It was within the bounds of possibility that the infatuated youth might tell the girl. "I can't tell you all my reasons now," he said. "But believe me they are good reasons. It has to do with the game we are playing." "You're not fair to her!" Bobo burst out. "You don't like her. She told me so herself."