He was entirely serene.  He had a supper engagement after the show, he had a neat car waiting outside to take him to it, and the night’s business had been extraordinary.  He consulted his watch and then picked up an evening paper.  A few moments later he found himself reading over and over a small notice inserted among the personals.

“Personal:  Jean Melis, who was in Norada, Wyoming, during the early fall of 1911 please communicate with L 22, this office.”

The orchestra was still playing outside; the silly, giggling crowds were moving back to their seats, and somewhere Jean Melis, or the friends of Jean Melis, who would tell him of it, were reading that message.

He got his hat and went out, forgetful of the neat car at the curb, of the supper engagement, of the night’s business, and wandered down the street through the rain.  But his first uneasiness passed quickly.  He saw Bassett in the affair, and probably Clark himself, still living and tardily determined to clear his name.  But if the worst came to the worst, what could they do?  They could go only so far, and then they would have to quit.

It would be better, however, if they did not see Melis.  Much better; there was no use involving a simple situation.  And Bev could be kept out of it altogether, until it was over.  Ashamed of his panic he went back to the theater, got a railway schedule and looked up trains.  He should have done it long before, he recognized, have gone to Bassett in the spring.  But how could he have known then that Bassett was going to make a life-work of the case?

He had only one uncertainty.  Suppose that Bassett had learned about Clifton Hines?

By the time the curtain rang down on the last act he was his dapper, debonair self again, made his supper engagement, danced half the night, and even dozed a little on the way home.  But he slept badly and was up early, struggling with the necessity for keeping Jean Melis out of the way.

He wondered through what formalities L 22, for instance, would have to go in order to secure a letter addressed to him?  Whether he had to present a card or whether he walked in demanded his mail and went away.  That thought brought another with it.  Wasn’t it probable that Bassett was in New York, and would call for his mail himself?

He determined finally to take the chance, claim to be L 22, and if Melis had seen the advertisement and replied, get the letter.  It would be easy to square it with the valet, by saying that he had recognized him in the theater and that Miss Carlysle wished to send him a box.

He had small hope of a letter at his first call, unless the Frenchman had himself seen the notice, but his anxiety drove him early to the office.  There was nothing there, but he learned one thing.  He had to go through with no formalities.  The clerk merely looked in a box, said “Nothing here,” and went on about his business.  At eleven o’clock he went back again, and after a careful scrutiny of the crowd presented himself once more.