like that! For the only breed worth its salt was the kind that
laughed when happy and when hurt.

The average young woman, rushing into his arms the way she had,
would not have stirred him in the least. And immediately upon the
heels of this thought came a taste of the confusion he saw in store
for himself. Was it the phantom or Kitty? He jumped to another
angle to escape the impasse. Kitty's coming to him in that fashion
raised an unpalatable suggestion. He evidently looked fatherly, no
matter how he felt. Hang these fifty-two years, to come crowding
his doorstep all at once!

He raised his head and laughed. He suddenly remembered now. At
nine that night he had been scheduled to deliver a lecture on the
Italo-Jugoslav muddle before a distinguished audience in the
ballroom of a famous hotel! He would have some fancy apologizing
to do in the morning.

He stepped into a doorway, then peered out cautiously. There was
not a single pedestrian in sight. No need of hiking any further
in this rain; so he hunted for a taxi. To-morrow he would set the
wires humming relative to old Stefani Gregor. Boris Karlov, if
indeed it were he, would lead the way. Hadn't Stefani and Boris
been boyhood friends, and hadn't Stefani betrayed the latter in
some political affair? He wasn't sure; but a glance among his
1912 notes would clear up the fog.

But that young chap! Who was he? Cutty set his process of logical
deduction moving. Karlov - always supposing that gorilla was
Karlov - had come in from the west. So had the young man. Gregor's