"Not exactly."
The accent of P. Sybarite's laugh rendered the disclaimer conclusive.
"Glad to hear that," said the boy gravely: "I'd despise to be beholden to any friend of his ..."
"Well.... But what's the trouble between you and old man Shaynon?"
"Search me—unless he thought I was spying on him. I say!" the boy exclaimed excitedly—"what business could he have had with Red November there, to-night?"
"That is a question," P. Sybarite allowed.
"Something urgent, I'll be bound!—else he wouldn't ever have dared show his bare map in that dump."
"One would think so...."
"I'd like to figure this thing out. Perhaps you can help. To begin with—I went to a party to-night."
"I know," said P. Sybarite, with a quiet chuckle: "the Hadley-Owen masquerade."