"And you will be gone how long?"
"That depends, doesn't it, upon the pleasure of that most gracious lady the Countess Gilda. I may be back in a fortnight, and in that case I will make an engagement with you. We will take a ride together on a trolley-car."
"Agreed," said I.
It was a warm afternoon in the middle of May, and I was lounging in the deserted common room of the Utinam Club when Esper Indiman walked in. We shook hands.
"You landed to-day?" I asked.
"Yes, by the Deutschland."
It was impossible for me to utter the inquiry that rose to my lips. Indiman hesitated just a trifle, then he went on:
"I delivered my letter to the Countess, and she was most obliged. She asked me to stay on, but I had a previous engagement to plead: you remember that I had agreed to go on a trolley-ride on or about this date?"
"I remember," I answered. "Let us interview Oscar, then, upon the subject of dinner; it will be cooler up at Thirty-fourth Street. Afterwards we will have our adventure on the trolley."
Well, we went and had our dinner, but, as you shall see, the trolley-ride had to be indefinitely postponed. We had started down Fifth Avenue, and near Madison Square we ran squarely into Indiman's cousin, George Estes. He was standing near a brilliantly illumined shop-window, and gazing intently at a small object that lay in the hollow of his hand.