"By the way, Harris, do you know Mr. Castrani, the young Cuban, who has
turned the heads of so many of our fair belles? Some one was telling me
that he left town this morning."

"Castrani! Yes, I think I do. He did leave for the North this morning, in
the early express. I marked his baggage for him. He had been hurried so
in his preparations, he said, that he had no time for it."

"Indeed? It's a bore to be hurried. Where was he checked to?"

"Well, really, the name of the place has escaped me. Some little town in
New Hampshire or Maine, I think. We do so much of this business that my
memory is treacherous about such things."

"Were you speaking of Castrani?" asked Tom Clifford, a friend of Archer's
removing his cigar from his mouth. "Deuced fine fellow! Wish I had some
of his spare shillings. Though he's generous as a prince. Met him this
morning just as he was coming down the steps of the Astor. Had to get up
early to see after that confounded store of mine. Walker's too lazy to
open it mornings."

"You met Mr. Castrani?" said Archer, referring to the point.

"Yes. He told me he was going away. Woman somewhere mixed up in the case.
Said he expected to find one somewhere--well, hanged if I can tell where.
There's always a woman at the bottom of everything."

"He did not mention who this one was?"