Mr. Waudle and Mr. Munger maintained a "den," literary and otherwise, in one of the new studio buildings just east of Lexington Avenue. This was the address Mr. Waudle had left for Jacqueline; to this destination Desboro now addressed himself. Thither an itinerant taxicab bore him on shaky springs. He paid the predatory chauffeur, turned to enter the building, and met Clydesdale face to face, entering the same doorway.
"Hello!" said the latter with a cheerful grin. "Where are you bound?"
"Oh, there's a man hereabouts with whom I have a few moments' business."
"Same here," observed Clydesdale.
They entered the building together, and both walked straight through to the elevator.
"Mr. Waudle," said Clydesdale briefly to the youth in charge. "You need not announce me."
Desboro looked at him curiously, and caught Clydesdale's eyes furtively measuring him.
"Odd," he said pleasantly, "but my business is with the same man."
"I was wondering."
They exchanged perfectly inexpressive glances.