Cosmopolis to-night. I am sure you will do everything you can. Good-bye, my boy, good-bye."
Archie continued his walk. This, he felt, was beginning to be a bit thick. He smiled a bitter, mirthless smile as he recalled the fact that less than half an hour had elapsed since he had expressed a regret that he did not belong to the ranks of those who do things. Fate since then had certainly supplied him with jobs with a lavish hand. By bed-time he would be an active accomplice to a theft, valet and companion to a snake he had never met, and—as far as could gather the scope of his duties—a combination of nursemaid and private detective to dear old Squiffy.
It was past four o'clock when he returned to the Cosmopolis. Roscoe Sherriff was pacing the lobby of the hotel nervously, carrying a small hand-bag.
"Here you are at last! Good heavens, man, I've been waiting two hours."
"Sorry, old bean. I was musing a bit and lost track of the time."
The Press-agent looked cautiously round. There was nobody within earshot.
"Here he is!" he said.
"Who?"
"Peter."
"Where?" said Archie, staring blankly.
"In this bag. Did you expect to find him strolling arm-in-arm with me round the lobby? Here you are! Take him!"
He was gone. And Archie, holding the bag, made his way to the lift The bag squirmed gently in his grip.
The only other occupant of the lift was a striking-look-
