was no clerk, however, this was evident from his attire. He was garbed from head to foot in soberly blending shades of gray whose richness was notable only at close view. One fancied him a very precise sort of man, an old maid of the wrong sex.
Doctor Ansley, an Iverness flung over his evening clothes, entered the lounge room, and Fell turned to him with a dry, toneless chuckle.
"You're the limit! Did you forget we were going to the Maillards' to-night."
Ansley appeared vexed and irritated. "Confound it. Fell!" he exclaimed. "I've been all over town looking for El Reys. Caught in a crowd—no El Reys yet!"
Again Fell uttered his toneless chuckle. His voice was absolutely level, unmarked by any change of inflection.
"My dear fellow, there are only three places in the city that can afford to carry El Reys in these parlous times! This club, however, happens to be one of the three. Here, sit down and forget your troubles over a real smoke! We need not leave for fifteen minutes yet, at least."
Doctor Ansley laid aside his cape, stick,
