PART TWO THE SCRAP OF LACEOne morning when I was later than usual in arriving at Gramercy Park (Mme. Storey and I had been working the greater part of the night), Eddie, the hall boy, informed me that there was a lady waiting upstairs.
"Upstairs?" I repeated in surprise. I had the key to our offices.
"I placed a chair in the hall for her," he said. "She wouldn't wait down here. She was excited. That's her car outside."
The car (to which I had given an admiring glance on the way in) was a foreign-built limousine perfect in its appointments; the chauffeur one of those exalted creatures with the self-possession of a cabinet minister.
I hastened up the single flight of stairs in no little curiosity. There was the chair where the boy had placed it, but the lady was walking jerkily up and d
