Later Braine sauntered into Pabst's and ordered a light supper. This night's work, more than anything else, brought home to him the fact that his luck was changing. For years he had proceeded with his shady occupations without encountering any memorable failure. He moved in the high world, quite unsuspected. He had written books, given lectures, been made a lion of, all the while laughing in his sleeve at the gullibility of human nature. But within the last two weeks he had received serious checks. From now on he must move with the utmost caution. Some one was playing his own game, waging warfare unseen. A battle of wits? So be it; but Braine intended to play with rough wits, and he wasn't going to care which way the sword cut. He hated Stanley Hargreave with all the hatred of his soul; the hatred of a man balked in love. And the man was alive, defying him; alive somewhere in this city this very night, with a bullet under his skin. "Is everything satisfactory, sir?" he heard the head waiter say. "Satisfactory?" Braine repeated blankly. "Yes, sir. You struck the table as though displeased." "Oh!" Then Braine laughed relievedly. "If I struck the table, it was done unconsciously. I was thinking." "Beg pardon, sir. Anything else, sir?" "No. Bring me the check." "Your master gives riding lessons?" The groom who had led the horse back from Hargreave's eyed his questioner rather superciliously. "Yes." The groom fondled the animal's legs. "How much is it?" "Twenty dollars for a ticket of five rides. The master is the fashion up here. He doesn't cater to any but the best families." "Pretty steep. Who was that young lady riding this morning with your master?" "That's the girl all the newspapers have been talking about," answered the groom importantly. "Actress?" "Actress! I should say not. That young woman is the daughter of Stanley Hargreave, the millionaire who was lost at sea. And it won't be long before she puts her finger in a pie of four or five millions. If you want any rides, you'll have to talk it over with the boss. He may or may not take any more rides. You'd probably have to ride in the afternoon, anyhow, as every nag is out in the morning." "Where's the most popular road?" "Toward the park; but Miss Hargreave always goes along the riverside road. She doesn't like strangers about." "Oh, I see. Well, I'll drop in this afternoon and see your master. They say that riding is good for a torpid liver. Have a cigar?" "Thanks." The groom proceeded into the stables and the affable stranger took himself off. A free rein; they could work it to suit themselves. There wasn't the least obstacle in the way. On the face of it, it appeared to be the simplest job they had yet undertaken. To get rid of the riding master in some natural way after he and the girl had started. It was like falling off a log.