"Well, as your banker that's all I'm concerned with. As your friend I may say I think it's a good scheme. You will have a close, outside view of a millionaire's life that will be of inestimable service to you when you have to take up that life." Jack told him of the call of the Eureka Protective Association's representative, and mentioned that his, Mr. Delamare's name, had been offered as a reference. The banker smote his palm with his fist. "By Gad! it's a fact!" he said. "I had forgotten all about it. I subscribed three years ago, after poor Ames Benton's death when we were all scared, and I suppose the payments have been going on ever since by my orders. At the time I thought the scheme was on the square, and I have never thought about it since. But they didn't tax me anything like as much as you. I suppose their ideas were more modest at the beginning. I must put a stop to my contributions." "Wouldn't it be better to wait until I have looked into the thing?" said Jack. Delamare shook his head decisively. "I can't stand for anything like that." Having obtained the approval of his banker and his lawyer for his plans, Jack felt encouraged to go ahead. As Delamare and Brome were leaving Jack said: "Can either of you put me in touch with a high police official, a man I can apply to in case of need?" "I know the third deputy commissioner," said Delamare. "I'll give you a note to him." When Jack and Bobo started out on the automobile buying expedition they left the Madagascar by the front door. "The back door must be saved for emergencies," said Jack. "We'll have to get used to running the gauntlet." However since no photographs had yet been published they were not generally recognized in the lobby. They only had one encounter. That was in that well-known cross corridor behind the lobby, where under the softly shaded lights amidst tropical verdure lovely ladies await their companions for luncheon and tea. As Bobo and Jack passed through one of these, a really dazzling creature in an ermine cape jumped up from her fauteuil. "Mr. Norman!" she cried, addressing Bobo. "I'm sure I can't be mistaken!" Bobo fell back in dismay. Jack looked on with a twinkle. It was not up to him to rescue his partner. The lady was of that highly-finished type that defies time--for a long time. She might have been twenty-eight or thirty-eight. For furs, millinery and hairdressing one couldn't see much of the woman God made, except a pair of big blue eyes, the whites slightly discolored from make-up. Her clothes outstyled style--but all was in good taste. It looked like the real thing. "I am Clara Birmingham that was," she went on. "Don't you remember me?" "I--I can't say I do," stammered Bobo ungallantly.