"Probably," I said, with a shrug intended to intimate that the matter was of no special interest to me. "How did it turn out in your story?"
Burleigh looked at me sideways for a moment. Then he said, imperturbably, "Why, I believe he made the mistake of going into politics, and so the thing came out. He was hung--in the story. Politics is no place for a man who has a past that he doesn't want to have come out."
"No doubt you are right about that," I said lightly.
"Of course I am. I'm in the business," he said emphatically. "If a man has a past--that sort of a past, I mean,--he ought to know enough to stick to--philanthropy or architecture or collecting, or something else nice and private. This your street? Well, good day, Mr. Hilton. Glad I met you." He tipped his hat and left me.
You can imagine the state of my mind. I puzzled over the situation for an hour, and then telephoned Clyde and asked him to drop into my office.
Clyde came that same afternoon. I told him of the Burleigh interview as directly as possible.
"Now you can judge for yourself whether it means anything sinister," I concluded.
"The Samovar is for the ring, of course," he said, thoughtfully.
"Of course. And Burleigh's recommendation that a man in that predicament should confine himself to architecture, or some kindred avocation, instead of trying to break into politics, didn't sound altogether accidental."
He nodded comprehendingly, and smoked in silence for a few moments. Then he looked up with a smile.