Harriet Holden was sitting in Elizabeth’s boudoir. “And he had the effrontery,” the latter was saying, “to tell me what I must do and must not do! The idea! A miserable¹ little milk-wagon driver dictating² to me!”

 

Miss Holden smiled.

 

“I should not call him very little,” she remarked.

 

“I didn’t mean physically,” retorted Elizabeth. “It is absolutely insufferable. I am going to demand that father discharge the man.”

 

“And suppose he asks you why?” asked Harriet. “You will tell him, of course, that you want this person discharged because he protected you from the insults and attacks of a ruffian while you were dining in Feinheimer’s at night—is that it?”

 

“You are utterly³ impossible, Harriet!” cried Elizabeth, stamping her foot. “You are as bad as that efficiency person. But, then, I might have expected it! You have always, it seems to me, shown a great deal more interest in the fellow than necessary, and probably the fact that Harold doesn’t like him is enough to make you partial toward him, for you have never tried to hide the fact that you don’t like Harold.”

 

“If you’re going to be cross,” said Harriet, “I think I shall go home.”

 

At about the same time the Lizard⁴ entered Feinheimer’s. In the far corner of the room Murray was seated at a table. The Lizard approached and sat down opposite him. “Here I am,” he said. “What do you want, and how did you know I was in town?”

 

“I didn’t know,” said Murray. “I got a swell⁵ job for you, and so I sent out word to get you.”

 

“You’re in luck then,” said the Lizard. “I just blew in this morning. What kind of a job you got?”

 

Murray explained at length.

 

“They got a watchman,” he concluded, “but I’ve got a guy on de inside that’ll fix him.”

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