She had come to him again--and this time with a matter that entailed more than ordinary difficulty, more than usual danger, that would tax his wits and his skill to the utmost, not only to succeed, but to get out of it himself with a whole skin.

Markel--eh?
Jimmie Dale leaned back in his seat, clasped his hands behind his head--and his eyes, half closed now, were studying Benson's back again through the plate-glass front.
He was still sitting in that position as the car approached his residence on Riverside Drive--but, as it came to a stop, and Benson opened the door, it was a very alert Jimmie Dale that stepped to the sidewalk.
"Benson," he said crisply, "I am going downtown again later on, but I shall drive myself.

Bring the touring car around and leave it in front of the house.

I'll run it into the garage when I get back--you need not wait up." "Very good, sir," said Benson.
In the hallway, Jason, the butler, who had been butler to Jimmie Dale's father before him, took Jimmie Dale's hat and coat.
"It's a fine evening, Master Jim," said the privileged old man affectionately.
Jimmie Dale took out his silver cigarette case, selected a cigarette, tapped it daintily on the cover of the case--and accepted the match the old man hastily produced.
"Yes, Jason." said Jimmie Dale, pleasantly facetious, "it a fine night, a glorious night, moon and stars and a balmy breeze--quite too fine, indeed, to remain indoors.

In fact, you might lay out my gray ulster; I think I will go for a spin presently, when I have changed." "Yes, sir," said Jason.