After hastily consulting the ponderous pages of a city directory in an adjacent drug store, a young man, attired in dark business suit, his broad shoulders those of an athlete, his face strongly marked and full of character, and bronzed even at this season by out-of-door living, hurried across the street and entered the busy doorway of the Railway Exchange Building.

On the seventh floor he unceremoniously flung open a door bearing the number sought, and stepped within to confront the office boy, who as instantly frowned his disapproval.
"Office hours over," the latter announced shortly.

"Just shuttin' up." "I am not here on business, my lad," was the good-natured reply, "but in the hope of catching Mr.Craig before he got away." The boy, still somewhat doubtful, jerked his hand back across his shoulder toward an inner apartment.
"Well, his nibs is in there, but he 's just a-goin'." The visitor swung aside the gate and entered.

The man within, engaged in closing down his roll-top desk for the day, wheeled about in his chair, quite evidently annoyed by so late a caller.

An instant he looked at the face, partially shadowed in the dim light, then sprang to his feet, both hands cordially extended.
"Ned Winston, by all the gods!" he exclaimed, his voice full of heartiness.