with cold from the open window, partly with the intensity of his anxiety. Presently becoming aware of the icy draft, he closed the sash, got into his wadded dressing-gown, and summoned Gichera. Hirt's messages did not concern him. Nothing concerned him but the effect of this new fable on Margery.

"Is this Mr. Hirt?" a girl inquired; then, after a moment's pause, came a laughing masculine voice: "Is this Herr Hirt? I tried to call you up at the Fortieth-street shop, knowing your Sunday habits; but your secretary said that you were round at our place. I made the hello girl ask for you because I don't want Alden to get his talons on my holiday. Hirt, I thought you might possibly be upset by that 'Palladium' lunacy. And Alden can't tell you where I am because he does n't know. I'm staying at the Savoy, under my own name-nobody on my trail, meals in my own room, hours of my own making-carefree, lazy, and generally all right. I was never in better voice in my life. I'll sing you the nightingales off their rose-bushes to-morrow night. But don't you give me away, Hirt! I could n't get such a rest if the friend of my soul knew my street and number."

"I have told you many times that you would

do better alone—many times," Hirt answered solemnly. The voice laughed and cried, "Tomorrow!" and Hirt heard the click of a receiver hung up.

He turned from the instrument to Alden shivering over the newly-lighted fire; noted the black rings around the eyes, the sharp movements, the bitten finger-nails. But he viewed this picture of misery with an appreciation untinged with pity. At last his moment had come to triumph over the Favorite, to say, "Yes, you are Monsieur Tolna's alter ego, his indispensable manager; but while you are frightening yourself sick over his disappearance, behold me, the humble Hirt, all the while in his secrets!" His mouth was open to utter the derisive words when he shut it with decision. After all, like the Mikado, he found that he preferred something humorous and lingering. "I go to the police," he said simply, and withdrew with the ponderous dignity of one of his own Nibelungen gods.

Had Denys had his wits about him, he might have wondered at the sudden cessation of Hirt's ravings, but his mind seemed to take no cognizance of Hirt. As he dressed mechanically, his whole being was listening for the next ring of the telephone. Last time it

had not brought his death-warrant. This time it must do so.

The day passed, however, much as yesterday had done. More false clues were brought to him to be rejected. He went out and came in almost aimlessly. It was nearly dark when the belated summons rang, and he took down the receiver, half praying for a new reprieve, half-hoping for the voice he dreaded, that at least the strain of waiting might be over. It was, indeed, Margery.

66

Oh, Mr. Alden, we have been out of town to-day. We have just heard. Of course you have seen the paper?"

"Yes, Miss Fanning; but I am glad to tell you that there is n't a word of truth in it."

66

He is n't gone away? Oh, Mr. Alden, I shall ask mother to bring me down."

"But the doctor's orders-" Denys boggled miserably.

"I won't speak to him. I don't wish to see him. But don't you understand that we must have an explanation with you? You have let the whole day go by. It seems not to have occurred to you that I might feel some concern about this story-might even suffer—”

He knew very well what he suffered himself. To face her frank preference for Mau

rice was pleasure in comparison to facing her discovery of his own deceit.

"Not that we doubt your word," Margery went on. "But for four days mother and I have expected him-in vain. Mr. Alden, either there is something dreadfully wrong about this matter, or-"

Futile

The alternative was lost in silence. plans dazzled upon Denys's vision like the tangled fancies of delirium-excuses to keep her away; half-truths to account for the tenor's absence; changing possibilities which danced like will-o'-the-wisps before his .fevered brain, leaving him helpless to grasp at

any.

"Mr. Alden," the girl's voice repeated, "shall we come?"

The

“Yes, come—no, you—I—I meandoctor says to-morrow-I-I-" His words broke off in stammerings. Tossing back his hair in the old familiar gesture, he felt his forehead damp. A moment he stood there, feeling utterly befogged, helpless, powerless to think. Then, with a new note in his voice, he spoke into the receiver.

"Miss Fanning, wait. Don't go out. I am coming immediately to see you."

"Now

CHAPTER XV

MR. SMITH'S FIANCÉE

my notion for our own sitting-room would be something cheerful and Willie Smith pronounced. "What's your

idea, Honor?"

cozy,

"I am too tired to have any ideas," the girl answered, emphasizing her indifference by retreating to the window-seat at the far end of the room.

His fiancée and her mother had lunched with Mr. Smith at Sherry's, to the interest of the whole dining-room and the consequent satisfaction of Willoughby. Afterward they had spent three weary hours tramping up and down the echoing rooms of the new palace, where Mrs. Hammond proved herself as indefatigable as admirable. An inborn genius for decorative art, trained by life with an architect, gave her a genuine predilection among many assumed ones. It was her greatest pleasure to advise the arrangement of any