“There you are,” said the gallant captain, handing the pad to the other. “That message came this afternoon. All telegrams to Oberzohn come by ’phone—never forget it!” “Ingenious creature!” Dr. Oberzohn’s admiration was almost reverential. “Take her out to lunch . . . after lunch, the message. At four o’clock, Joan or one of the girls. A select dinner. To-morrow the office . . . gently, gently. Bull-rush these schemes and your plans die the death of a dog.” He glanced at the door once more. “She won’t come out, I suppose?” he suggested. “Deuced awkward if she came out and saw Miss Newton’s brother!” “I have locked the door,” said Dr. Oberzohn proudly. Captain Newton’s attitude changed: his face went red with sudden fury. “Then you’re a—you’re a fool! Unlock the door when I’ve gone—and keep it unlocked! Want to frighten her?” “It was my idea to risk nothing,” pleaded the long-faced Swede. “Do as I tell you.” Captain Newton brushed his speckless coat with the tips of his fingers. He pulled on his gloves, fitted his hat with the aid of a small pocket-mirror he took from his inside pocket, took up his clouded cane and strolled from the room. “Ingenious creature,” murmured Dr. Oberzohn again, and went in to offer the startled Mirabelle an invitation to lunch. _Chapter IV_ _The Snake Strikes_ THE great restaurant, with its atmosphere of luxury and wealth, had been a little overpowering. The crowded tables, the soft lights, the very capability and nonchalance of the waiters, were impressive. When her new employer had told her that it was his practice to take the laboratory secretary to lunch, “for I have no other time to speak of business things,” she accepted uncomfortably. She knew little of office routine, but she felt that it was not customary for principals to drive their secretaries from the City Road to the Ritz-Carlton to lunch expensively at that resort of fashion and the epicure. It added nothing to her self-possession that her companion was an object of interest to all who saw him. The gay luncheon-parties forgot their dishes and twisted round to stare at the extraordinary-looking man with the high forehead. At a little table alone she saw a man whose face was tantalizingly familiar. A keen, thin face with eager, amused eyes. Where had she seen him before? Then she remembered: the chauffeur had such a face—the man who had followed her into Oberzohn’s when she arrived that morning. It was absurd, of course; this man was one of the leisured class, to whom lunching at the Ritz-Carlton was a normal event. And yet the likeness was extraordinary.