VIII
"Ave Cæsar!" irreverently remarked a man with a gray mustache as Rawn passed toward the cloak room.
"He sets me thinking, just the same," commented the large man grumblingly. "That fellow's a comer. He's building him a fine place, up the North Shore, they tell me. His family must have had money, 'though it's odd, I never heard of him till just lately. Who's going to pay for his house? Why, maybe we are!"
"Believe I'll go home for dinner to-night myself. Haven't been home for three days," yawned one.
—"And nights," added a smiling friend.
"Naturally. But let's have another little drink. I'm telling you, fellows, that fellow Rawn has got me guessing, too."
CHAPTER II
GRAYSTONE HALL
I
Mr. Rawn's long and shiny car was waiting for him when he stepped with stately dignity down the broad stair of the National Union Club. His chauffeur once more touched his hat, as he saw the hat of Mr. Rawn, so much taller and shinier than his own.