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“Is it really you, Mr. Hunter?” he asked, as they shook hands warmly. “I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw your card. Come this way,” and he conducted Douglas into the room he had just left, and closed the door softly behind them.

“When did you arrive in Washington?” he inquired, motioning Douglas to take a chair near the window and dropping into one opposite him.

“Yesterday.” Douglas leaned back and studied his surroundings. His eyes traveled over the handsome carved rosewood bookcases which lined the walls, at the large desk table, and the comfortable leather-covered revolving desk chair. The desk silver, drop lights, and large upholstered davenport pushed invitingly before the huge fireplace with its shining brass fire-dogs and fender, each told a tale of wealth and artistic taste—two assets not often found together. His eyes returned to Brett, and he smiled involuntarily as he caught the other intently regarding him.

Brett smiled in return. “I was wondering why you looked me up so soon,” he admitted candidly. “Don’t think I’m not glad to see you”—hastily—“but I remember of old that you seldom do things without a motive.”