'Pardon—was this the lady's proposition?'
'No. She asked me to get it from you—the bag.'
'And to restore it through her?'
'Yes.'
'And the address? Did she give you the young lady's address, the owner's, or her own?'
'She gave the owner's address.'
'Then if you will give it to me I can promise that to-morrow will see the little bag in its owner's possession.'
He took from his pocket a visiting card, upon which was engraved the name June E. Jenrys, and underneath in pencil the address.
I had seen just such a card, minus the pencilled address, in Miss Jenrys' card-tray on Washington Avenue; and that pencilled address! It was that of the café to which Miss Jenrys was to send her note concerning the evening excursion.
I had not spoken of the adventure of the bag during the afternoon, and I had not meant to do so. Since our last meeting my position in relation to Miss Jenrys had been changed. I was now in some degree the guardian of her interests, and while I believed in and admired this handsome and secretive stranger guard, and might have entrusted him with a secret all my own, perhaps, my mouth was closed concerning the young lady whom he professed to know yet was unwilling to meet.