Of course he was there."

"What do you mean? Whom are you talking about, anyway?" I asked.

Doctor Moore looked at me as though wondering if I were in my right mind, then said: "Stone, I am talking about the gentleman in the box; I said he should be there; he usually is with those ladies."

"Yes," I replied, "it is he!"

"Stone, what's the matter? Come and take something, old man"—and seizing me by the arm, my companion led me away to the nearest cafè, where he watched me closely as he poured out a bracer.

I seized it and said: "Here's to the man in the box! I've found him."

"Of course you found him, old man. I don't see what you are making such a fuss over that fact for; it's not a question of priority."

"No," I said, "it's a question of identity."

"Explain."

"Well, I want to know who he is. He has worried my mind for a month."

"Oh, is that all?" and Moore heaved a sigh of relief; he had been genuinely anxious about me, that was plain.

"Have you run up against him anywhere?" he asked.

"No, he ran up against me," I answered.

"Here, sit down," said Moore. "What, in heaven's name, has got into you?"

"Nothing. Only I desire to know that man's name. I have had an experience with him."

"Indeed! You're not the first, then; have you been up to anything shady, Stone?" said Moore, laughingly.

"No, only smoky—a fire. This man saved a child's life in a magnificent manner. What's his name?"

"Oh! I see. His name is Oakes. You should know that. He left college just a year or so after you and I entered. Don't you remember the fellow who saved those boys from drowning in the harbor that day?"

"You don't tell me! Is that Quintus Oakes? I never met him, but of course I knew him; everybody at college did, after that."

"Yes, that's the same fellow."

"Well, I certainly did not recognize his face. Only saw it a moment, but there was something about him that seemed familiar—that walk of his—I remember it now."

As the memories of youth crowded upon me I recalled him well, and realized that the years had filled out his figure and face; but it was the same man, the same walk and carriage—I had seen them hundreds of times. The quick, easy stride, erect figure and commanding bearing that had marked him so in his youth were as noticeable now, in his full manhood, as in those years of the long ago.

My companion and I did not return for the last act of the play, but strolled out in the street, where I told him of the episode of the fire and the part that Oakes had played in it.

"His actions, both at the time and afterwards when he tried to avoid notice, are characteristic," said Moore. "He is reputed as doing things vigorously and opportunely. His presence of mind is marvellous, I am told. You remember, he had that gift years back in college. Now, it seems to have developed greatly, until everybody who knows him well speaks of it."

"Are you well acquainted with him? You seem to know all about him."

"Yes, indeed," answered my friend. "I met him one night several years back, and I became so attracted to him that I cultivated his acquaintance wherever possible."

"Then you will understand how I was glad to identify him," was my rejoinder.

"Yes, indeed; if you like, you can easily manage to meet him."

I expressed my earnest desire, and Dr. Moore promised to arrange it so that we could meet some evening at the Club.

"By the way," said my companion, "he is probably the best informed, all-round man you have ever met. He did not cease learning at college."

"Lucky for him," I exclaimed laughingly.

"Well, don't be surprised if he starts in to discuss law with you, and holds you up at your own profession; he is a surprise party, sometimes."

"All right, but what is his business?"

Moore looked at me, and said: "He is one of the most original detectives in the country."

"Oh, a detective. Along what lines? He surely is no ordinary one at that business."

"No. He used to work alone on unusual occurrences, but his success was so great that now he has a large number of subordinates who do the ordinary details, and he limits his work to the important points on select cases. He is not heard of much, and is seen very little, but his work is in great demand."

I was interested, and asked if he had ever done any special work of prominence.

"Yes," said Moore. "He solved the matter of the 'Red Rose of Trieste.' Do you remember hearing of that?"

I exclaimed in amazement: "He! Is he the man who solved that affair? You must be mistaken. That occurred, or began, in Europe."

"Exactly," said Moore. "Quintus Oakes works there, as well as here. He speaks German, French, Italian, and perhaps more languages, fluently, and can secure evidence anywhere. He has travelled over the world several times. One year he was away ten months on a case, and secured the necessary evidence for conviction in Sydney."

"I see. He is something decidedly out of the ordinary, as his appearance suggests."

"He is on a new case just now, and he has promised to let me go, if I want to. It's a very short affair, and perhaps I will take a vacation that way. I have not been away yet this year," continued Moore.

We now parted for the evening, and as he started to go, I called out after him: "Say, Moore, get me into it, if it's exciting. I have had no vacation yet myself. Introduce me to Mr. Oakes as soon as you can, anyway."

"All right. I'll arrange for a night at the Club, provided Oakes is not too busy."

I returned to my rooms, little knowing how things were shaping, from an entirely independent direction, to throw me, willingly I confess, for a few brief weeks into a vortex of turmoil, to fight through it side by side with my friend Moore and vigorous, cool, quick-witted Quintus Oakes.

CHAPTER II

Quintus Oakes at Home

It was, therefore, a great deal in the nature of a surprise when, a few days after parting with Moore, I received a note at my apartments by messenger requesting me to call on Mr. Quintus Oakes that evening on professional business. It was written in a brisk, courteous style, but made no mention of Dr. Moore. Was it possible that I was to meet Oakes through other channels? I realized that my profession of the law might give many opportunities for such an interview with him, so I ceased to wonder, and started up Broadway just before the hour appointed. I turned into the long, dimly lighted side street near Long Acre Square, and found that the number designated was a bachelor apartment house. It was where I had lost him the day of the fire.

Taking the elevator to the third floor, I was directed to the door and admitted by a Japanese servant, a bright-eyed fellow of about twenty. He was dressed in our fashion and spoke English well—the kind of a chap that one sees not infrequently nowadays in the service of men who have seen the world, know how to live, and how to choose for personal comfort. It was evident that I was expected, for I was at once led into the front room and there met by Oakes himself. The instant he saw me, a look of recognition and mild surprise came over his face, and as he shook hands he said: "We have met before, at the fire the other day, Mr. Stone! Won't you please step into my sanctum? We can be more comfortable there."

He led me through a short hall, into a large airy