“THERE’S a note done cum fo’ yo’, suh,” announced the elevator boy lounging in the of the Albany as Douglas stepped inside the entrance of the apartment hotel. “I’ll get it,” and visions of a tip caused the mulatto to hasten his footsteps to the small office to the left of the entrance. In a few seconds he was back at the elevator , where Douglas stood waiting, and handed him a square envelope stamped with the words “State Department” in the left-hand corner. “Wanter go to yer room, suh,” slipping the expected coin in his trousers’ pocket.  
“Yes.” The door slammed shut, and the elevator shot upward. “Anyone been to see me or telephoned, Jonas?”
 
“No, suh.” The mulatto brought the cage to a standstill at the third floor, and Douglas stepped out and hastened to his tiny apartment. Throwing his hat and on the bed, he drew a chair to the open window, having first made sure, with a caution which had grown upon him, that the hall door was securely locked, and that the chambermaid was not loitering in the vicinity. As he opened the note an enclosure fell into his lap, and, without looking at it, he the few written lines. It was from the Secretary of State.
 
Dear Mr. Hunter: [he read] So far, no further developments. When people are at play they are usually “off guard.” I enclose an invitation to the garden party at the White House this afternoon, for which I asked. The Diplomatic will attend in a body. I hope to see you there.
 
Very truly yours——
 
Douglas picked up the enclosed envelope with the words “The White House” stamped in small gold letters in the upper left-hand corner, and pulled out the card. The gold eagle at the top of the invitation was almost stared out of , so long and so did he regard it, as he slowly weighed in his mind the events of the past three days.
 
If the desk file used to kill the Senator did belong to Mrs. Owen, then Brett had woven strong circumstantial evidence around Captain Lane. Was it possible that the young officer, at Senator Carew’s threat to turn his niece, Cynthia, out of doors, and past endurance by a possible tongue at their last interview, had seized the opportunity offered by chance and killed Carew, an enemy? From time immemorial family had, , often led to murder.
 
If so, what, then, became of his own theory of an international ? Were Senator Carew’s interest in things Japanese, his desire to see Douglas, the information by the latter in Japan, the untimely death of the Senator, and last—the theft of the plans of the new battleships—were these simply coincidences?
 
Douglas roused himself and glanced at the hour mentioned in the invitation—five o’clock. Jerking out his watch he found he had but half an hour in which to change his clothes before he was due at the White House.
 
Shortly Douglas walked through Lafayette Square on his way to the eastern entrance of the White House. A long queue of smart turnouts and motors stretched along Pennsylvania Avenue from Seventeenth Street to Executive Avenue, as the short street between the Department and the White House is called.
 
The policeman on special duty his card of admission carefully before allowing him to pass down the corridor and out into the garden.
 
The President and his wife were receiving on the lawn under a huge blossoming tree near the south . As Douglas waited in line to approach the President, he glanced about him with great interest. He had been to many brilliant functions in other countries, but he in his own mind that he had seldom seen a more beautiful setting for an entertainment than that afforded by the stately and its surrounding gardens. The lovely rolling grounds, with their natural beauty, and the towering white shaft of the Washington Monument in the background, made a picture not easily forgotten.
 
The full dress uniforms of the military and aides on duty added to the brilliancy of the scene. The Band, their coats making a vivid touch of color against the huge fountain with its sprays of water, were stationed on a raised platform far down the lawn. The southern breeze carried the stirring airs they were playing to Douglas’ ears and sent the hot blood dancing in his . Or was it the sight of Eleanor Thornton, looking radiantly beautiful, which set his heart in a most unusual manner? Some telepathy seemed to tell her of his presence, for she looked around, caught his eye, and bowed.
 
He had kept moving as the guests ahead of him advanced, and the next moment he was being presented to the President by the military aide stationed in attendance at the latter’s elbow. He had but time to receive a handshake and a cordial word of welcome from the President and the “first lady of the land,” for the other guests were waiting impatiently to greet them, and he could not loiter.
 
“Douglas Hunter! as I’m a sinner!” A hearty slap on the shoulder emphasized the words, and Douglas wheeled around and found Captain Chisholm, of the British Royal , addressing him. “The idea of your being here and not letting me know, old chap,” he added reproachfully, as they shook hands.
 
“I didn’t know you were in town,” declared Douglas. “Thought you were still in Paris.”
 
“I was transferred to the embassy in Washington three months ago. Upon my word, Douglas, I took you for a ghost when I first saw you. I was under the impression that you were stationed at Tokio.”
 
“So I am; I am only here on leave of absence.” The Englishman’s went up. “I had to attend to some Washington property, which has been recently left me. This is my native heath, you know.”
 
“I wasn’t aware of it,” dryly; “but then, Douglas, you are perpetually springing surprises, like your nation, on us foreigners.”
 
“Anything to drink around here?” inquired Douglas. “I am as thirsty as a herring.”
 
“There is some excellent punch, come along,” and the tall Englishman led the way to a long table placed under the trees near the tennis courts, where were being served. They corraled a colored waiter, and soon were iced punch as they stood at some distance from the crowd about the table and watched the scene.
 
“I didn’t want to come to Washington,” acknowledged Chisholm, after a moment’s silence, “but now, I’d hate to leave it. The people are , and I have never met with such genuine hospitality.”
 
“You are right; Washington people never forget you. Go away for ten years, and on your return you will be greeted just as warmly as to-day.”
 
“Don’t talk of going away, I’ve only just come,” laughed Chisholm. “’Pon my word, Douglas, this seems like old times. I can almost imagine myself back in Paris, the chestnut trees in blossom, which remind me of the Parc Monceau, help the illusion. And there’s another illusion”—nodding his head toward Eleanor Thornton, who stood at some distance talking to two staff officers—“or, I should say, a .” He smiled gayly, but there was no answering smile on Douglas’ face. Not noticing his companion’s silence, the Englishman added, “Is she still hunting around looking up old files and records?”
 
Douglas started as if stung. “I don’t know,” shortly.
 
“A dangerous habit,” commented Chisholm calmly. “If Miss Thornton had not left Paris and gone to Berlin when she did, her interest in government affairs might have led to serious trouble—for her.”
 
“Now, what the devil do you mean?” demanded Douglas hotly.
 
Chisholm turned and regarded him steadily for a second, then his monocle slipped down and from its silken cord. “There, there,” he exclaimed . “Don’t get your rag up, I was only spoofing.”
 
“You have very rudimentary ideas of humor,” Douglas, still incensed. In his heart he knew the Englishman was right; Eleanor Thornton was an . Dare he the mystery, or was he afraid to face the issue?
 
Chisholm laughed good-naturedly. “Miss Thornton is looking at you, Douglas; don’t let me detain you. I’ll see you again before I leave here.”
 
Douglas hesitated. “I’ll be back soon, Chisholm,” he said and walked across the lawn to join Eleanor.
 
The Englishman looked after him with eyes. “Still touched in that quarter,” he muttered, twirling his blond mustache in his fingers. “Too bad, Douglas is such a good chap, and she——” he was not allowed to indulge in more reflections, as he was seized upon by a of pretty girls and forced to dance attendance upon them for the remainder of the afternoon.
 
Recollections of his last interview with Eleanor troubled Douglas. How would she greet him? His doubts were soon put at rest, for at his approach Eleanor put out her hand and greeted him warmly. The two staff officers, who were introduced to Douglas, saw they were de trop, and, after a few minutes, made their excuses and departed.
 
“Will you have an ice or sandwich?” inquired Douglas.
 
“Neither, thanks; I have already been helped.”
 
“Then suppose we stroll down to the fountain. We can’t hear the Marine Band with all this chatter,” and he glanced disgustedly at the crowd about them.
 
Eleanor laughed. “Don’t be hard on your fellow creatures, if you are out of sorts.”
 
“What makes you think that?”
 
“You looked so cross when talking to Captain Chisholm. I am sorry you found your topic of conversation so boring.”
 
“What do you mean?”
 
“You both glanced so frequently at me that I naturally concluded I was under discussion.”
 
“On the contrary, we were discussing—masked batteries.” She scanned him , but could get no inkling of his thoughts from his blank expression. “Captain Chisholm has a fatal habit of talking shop whenever he gets a chance. Isn’t that Colonel Thornton to us over there?”
 
“Why, so it is. Shall we walk over and join him?” She paused to exchange a few words of greeting with several friends, then turned back to Douglas smilingly: “Come,” and he suited his steps to hers as they started across the lawn. “How long will you remain in Washington, Mr. Hunter?”
 
 
 
“Until the sale of some property of mine is completed,” . “I asked for you this morning, Miss Thornton, thinking you might care to go for a motor ride, but they told me that you were lying down and could not be disturbed.”
 
“They? Who?” swiftly. “This is the first I have heard of your call.”
 
“Indeed? Why, I to Annette when I reached the Carew residence this morning.”
 
“Annette!” in growing , “Annette told you I was indisposed and could not be disturbed?”
 
“Yes. My cousin had loaned me his car for the morning, and I thought it just possible that a run in the fresh air might set you up after the funeral yesterday.”
 
“It was good of you to think of me, Mr. Hunter.” She raised her eyes in time to see the Secretary of State regarding her intently as they strolled past him. He lifted his hat and returned their words of greeting, but his face was grave as he paused and watched them moving through the . “I am sorry about this morning,” continued Eleanor, “Annette and I will have a reckoning when we reach home.”
 
“Would you have gone with me?” eagerly.
 
“Yes.” Douglas to catch the monosyllable. Her foot turned on the ground and he put his hand on her arm to steady her. As his fingers closed over her soft, rounded arm, he drew her closer. The warmth of her skin through her glove thrilled him.
 
“I hope you will ask me again,” she said.
 
“To-morrow—will you go with me to-morrow?” .
 
“Yes.” She met his eyes for a second, then glanced away, while a hot blush her cheeks. “Provided, of course, that Cynthia Carew does not need me.” Then in a louder tone, “We............