There was a certain swing to her shoulder as she walked, a certain

undulatory movement of hip, which spoke of a large satisfaction with

the world as she found it.

Bones, something of a connoisseur and painfully worldly, pursed his

lips and broke off the conversation in which he was engaged, and which

had to do with the prospective profits on his jute deal, and remarked

tersely: "Ham, dear old thing, that is a chinchilla coat worth twelve hundred

pounds."

Hamilton, to whom the mysteries of feminine attire were honest

mysteries, accepted the sensational report without demur.

"The way you pick up these particular bits of information, Bones, is

really marvellous to me. It isn't as though you go out a lot into

society. It isn't as though women are fond of you or make a fuss of

you."

Bones coughed.

"Dicky Orum. Remember, dear old Richard," he murmured. "My private

life, dear old fellow, if you will forgive me snubbing you, is a matter

on which nobody is an authority except A. Tibbetts, Esq. There's a lot

you don't know, dear old Ham. I was thinking of writing a book about

it, but it would take too long."

By this time they reached the elevator, which descended in time to

receive the beautiful lady in the brown coat. Bones removed his hat,

smoothed his glossy hair, and with a muttered "After you, dear old

friend. Age before honesty," bundled Hamilton into the lift and

followed him.

The elevator stopped at the third floor, and the lady got out. Bones,

his curiosity overcoming his respect for age or his appreciation of

probity, followed her, and was thrilled to discover that she made

straight for his office. She hesitated for a moment before that which

bore the word "Private," and passed on to the outer and general office.

Bones slipped into his own room so quickly that by the time Hamilton

entered he was sitting at his desk in a thoughtful and studious

attitude.

It cannot be said that the inner office was any longer entitled to the

description of sanctum sanctorum. Rather was the holy of holies the

larger and less ornate apartment wherein sat A Being whose capable

little fingers danced over complicated banks of keys.

The communicating door opened and the Being appeared. Hamilton,

mindful of a certain agreement with his partner, pretended not to see

her.

"There's a lady who wishes a private interview with you, Mr. Tibbetts,"

said the girl.

Bones turned with an exaggerated start.

"A lady?" he said in a tone of incredulity. "Gracious Heavens! This

is news to me, dear old miss. Show her in, please, show her in. A

private interview, eh?" He looked meaningly at Hamilton. Hamilton did

not raise his eyes--in accordance with his contract. "A private

interview, eh?" said Bones louder. "Does she want to see me by myself?"




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