edge of society, and his willingness to undertake any case, however delicate, made him a desirable companion in so embarrassing a crisis.
Van Asten threw himself into a chair commanding a view of the bedroom door and took up a book. No sound came from his chamber. From all that could be gathered, his erratic visitor had gone to bed and to sleep. Now that he was sure of a tactful and clever companion, he rather looked forward to seeing the girl again. He could at last permit his imagination to play with the situation. It might be, after all, a romance—who could tell? The girl was pretty and cultured. No great scandal could ensue with two men there; and somehow, with his luck or his astuteness, Astro would bring the affair to a pleasant solution. A half-hour went by. Van Asten yawned, read a little, and again fell into a reverie. It was three-quarters of an hour before the electric bell sounded. Van Asten ran to the door, threw it open, and Astro, covered with snow, picturesque in slouch hat and Inverness cape, entered.
"Well," he said amusedly, stamping his feet, "when did she leave?"
"She didn't!" said Van Asten. "She's in that room now."
"Oh, didn't she?" Astro shrugged his shoulders and walked toward the bedroom door. "Well, let's see her."
"But, heavens! you mustn't open that door! She's probably in bed and asleep! And besides, the door's locked."
"So it is," said Astro, trying the handle. "I shall have to ask you for a button-hook."
"I haven't any except one in that room."
