Episode 5

THOUGH San Marco is a particularly gaudy tassl on the fringe of the tourist's South, it was to the north that Mr. Richard Minot first turned. One hour later he made his appearance amid the gold braid and dignity of the Plaza lobby.

The young man behind the desk—an exquisite creature done in Charles Dana Gibson's best manner—knew when to be affable. He also knew when not to be affable. Upon Mr. Minot he ttuned the cold fishy stare he kept for such as were not guests under his charge.

"What is your business with Lord Harrowby?" he inquired suspiciously.

"Since when," asked Mr. Minot brightly, "have you been in his lordship's confidence?"

This was the young man's cue to wince. But hotel clerks are notoriously poor wincers.

"It is customary—"he began with perfect poise.

"I know," said Mr. Minot. "But then, I'm a sort of a friend of his lordship."

"A sort of a friend?" How well he lifted his eyebrows!

"Something like that. I believe I'm to be best man at his wedding."

Ah, yes; that splendid young man knew when to be affable. Affability swamped him now.

"Boy!" he cried. "Take this gentleman's card to Lord Harrowby."

A bell-boy in a Zenda uniform accepted the card, laid it upon a silver tray, glued it down with a large New York thumb, and strayed off down gilded corridors shouting, "Lord Harrowby."

Whereat all the pretty little débutantes who happened to be decorating the scene at the moment felt their pampered hearts go pit-a-pat and, closing their eyes, saw visions and dreamed dreams.

Lord Harrowby was at luncheon, and sent word for Mr. Minot to join him. Entering the gay dining-room, Minot saw at the far end the blond and noble head he sought. He threaded his way between the tables. Although he was an unusually attractive young man, he had never experienced anything like the array of stares turned upon him ere he had gone ten feet. "What the devil's the matter?" he asked himself. "I seem to be the cynosure of neighboring eyes, and then some." He did not dream that it was because he was passing through a dining-room of democrats to grasp the hand of a lord.

"My dear fellow, I'm delighted, I assure you—" Really, Lord Harrowby's face should have paid closer attention to his words. Just now it failed ignominiously in the matter of backing them up.

"Thank you," Mr. Minot replied. "Your lordship is no doubt surprised at seeing me so soon—"

"Well—er—not at all. Shall I order luncheon?"

"No, thanks. I had a bite on the way up." And Mr. Minot dropped into the chair which an eager waiter held ready. "Lord Harrowby, I trust you are not going to be annoyed by what I have to tell you."

His lordship's face clouded, and worry entered the mild blue eyes.

"I hope there's nothing wrong about the policy."

"Nothing whatever. Lord Harrowby, Mr. Jephson trusts you—implicitly."

"So I perceived this morning. I was deeply touched."

"It was—er—touching." Minot smiled a bit cynically. "Understanding as you do how Mr. Jephson feels toward you, you will realize that it is in no sense a reflection on you that our office, viewing this matter in a purely business light, has decided that some one must go to San Marco with you. Some one who will protect Mr. Jephson's interests."

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