CHAPTER IBIRDS OF A FEATHER "YOUR mail, Mr. Rowden." "Ah, yes. Thank you." The switchboard operator passed a stack of envelopes to the man who stood in front of the lobby desk. Rowden smiled as he received the mail. He scanned the envelopes; then thrust them in his pocket and strolled into the elevator. The switchboard girl sighed as the door closed. It was not often that the Mallison Apartments received such debonair guests as Roke Rowden. Small and obscure in the midst of Manhattan, the Mallison catered chiefly to bargain-hunting tourists. Roke Rowden was a novelty. He had the bearing of a man-about-town. Suave
