V
WHEN Archie got back to his hotel at two o'clock in the morning, he found Fred Ottenburg's card under his door, with a message scribbled across the top: "When you come in, please call up room 811, this hotel." A moment later Fred's voice reached him over the telephone.
"That you, Archie? Won't you come up? I 'm having some supper and I 'd like company. Late? What does that matter? I won't keep you long."
Archie dropped his overcoat and set out for room 811. He found Ottenburg in the act of touching a match to a chafing-dish, at a table laid for two in his sitting-room. "I 'm catering here," he announced cheerfully. "I let the waiter off at midnight, after he 'd set me up. You 'll have to account for yourself, Archie."
The doctor laughed, pointing to three wine-coolers under the table. "Are you expecting guests?"
"Yes, two." Ottenburg held up two fingers,—"you, and my higher self. He 's a thirsty boy, and I don't invite him often. He has been known to give me a headache. Now, where have you been, Archie, until this shocking hour?"
"Bah, you 've been banting!" the doctor exclaimed, pulling out his white gloves as he searched for his handkerchief and throwing them into a chair. Ottenburg was in evening clothes and very pointed dress shoes. His white waistcoat, upon which the doctor had fixed a challenging eye, went down straight from the top button, and he wore a camelia. He was conspicuously brushed and trimmed and polished. His smoothly controlled excitement was wholly different from his usual easy cordiality, though he had his face, as well as his figure, well in hand. On the
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