It was nearly dark when the big red car drew up in front of the Gleason cottage and, the girl only alighting, moved on again slowly down the street. At the second crossing beyond, out of sight of the house, it switched abruptly to the right for four blocks, into the poorer section of the town, and stopped before a battered, old-fashioned residence. A middle-aged man in his shirt sleeves sat on the step smoking a pipe. At a nod from the driver he advanced to the curb.

“Mr. Armstrong in, Edwards?” asked Roberts directly.

The man shook his head.

“Been here, has he?”

“Not since he left this morning; about ten o’clock it was.”

Roberts paused, his hand on the clutch lever.

“Will you have him ’phone me when he comes, please?” 269

“Yes, certainly.”

“Thank you.”

The next stop was at the office, dark with a Sabbath darkness; but not for long. Within the space of a few minutes after he came, every light switched on, the windows open wide, his coat dangling from a chair in the corner, Roberts was at work upon a small mountain of correspondence collected upon his desk, a mountain of which each unit was marked “personal” or “private.” At almost the same time a waiter from a near-by cafÉ entered with a tray of sandwiches and coffee. Thereafter he ate as he worked.

An hour passed. The sandwiches disappeared entirely and the mountain grew slightly smaller. A second hour dragged by and the mountain suffered a second decline. For the first time Roberts halted and glanced at the clock. A moment later he took down the receiver from the ’phone on his desk and gave a number.

“That you, Randall? Has Armstrong been at your place to-night? You haven’t seen him at all to-day, then. No; nothing. Just wanted to know, that was all. Good-night.”

Another half-hour passed; then, without pausing in his work, Roberts pulled the buzzer lever 270 for a messenger. When the latter appeared he scribbled a few lines on a sheet of paper, addressed an envelope, and gave it to the boy with half a dollar.

“There’s a mate to that coin waiting here for you if you can get me an answer within half an hour,” he said. “You know the party, don’t you?”

“Sure. Yes, sir.”

“Follow up the trail, then. You’ve lost one minute of your thirty already.”

For the third time he returned to his work, halting only when the messenger in blue returned.

“Can’t deliver it, sir,” explained the latter curtly. “I’ve been all over town and no one has seen him. Thank you, sir. Good-night.”

For several minutes this time Darley Roberts sat in his desk chair thinking, quite motionless. The clock on the wall recorded midnight and he compared the time with his watch to make certain of its accuracy. Once more he took down the telephone receiver.

“This you, Elice?” he asked after a moment. “Can I be of service? Never mind, no need to explain. I understand. I’ll be right up.”

In spite of the city speed limit the big red 271 car made those twelve blocks intervening in sixty-four seconds flat.

“How did you ever know?”—infinite wonder, infinite relief as well in the tone. “Tell me that, please.”

“I didn’t know, of course. I merely guessed. Has it been long?”

Involuntarily the girl shuddered, then held herself steady with an effort.

“Yes, since dinner. He came while we were eating; and father—”

“I understand,” preventingly. “Don’t worry. It’s all over with now. Did any one else see—any of the neighbors, I mean?”

“I think not. It was after dark and—Oh, it’s simply horrible! horrible!”

“Yes,” gently. “I appreciate that. Let’s not speak about it. Your two roomers are both in?”

The girl nodded.

“They didn’t suspect anything wrong either?”

“No, the hammock was dark—and father watched. They went right up to their rooms without stopping.”

Roberts nodded, and looked out of the window. The light in the residence district of the town was on a midnight schedule and was now 272 cut off. He turned back. A moment he stood so, silent, facing the girl there in the dimly lighted hall. Under a sudden instinct he reached out and laid a hand compellingly on each of her shoulders, holding her captive.

“You don’t misunderstand my intruding here to-night, do you, Elice?” he asked directly.

“Misunderstand!” The girl looked at him steadily, the dark circles about her eyes eloquent. “Never. How can you fancy such a thing! Never.”

“And you’re willing to trust me to bring everything out right? It will be all right, take my word for that.”

Still the girl did not stir, but gazed at him. “Yes, I trust you implicitly, always,” she said.

A moment longer the hands held their place before they dropped.

“All right, then,” he said perfunctorily, “go to bed. I’ll take care of Steve—to-night and in the future. Don’t worry. Good-night.”

“Wait,” a hand was upon his arm, a compelling hand. “You mean—”

Roberts smiled deliberately, his slow, impersonal smile.

“Exactly what I said. This will be a lesson Steve should never forget. I can’t imagine his 273 repeating it—ever. Besides, I’ll help him not to. I have a plan.”

“You mean to help him as—as you helped Harry Randall and Margery?”

A moment the man was silent, though he smiled.

“No, not exactly. I’ll merely assist him to help himself. I think perhaps it’s only my duty anyway, that maybe I’m more or less responsible. By the way, don’t be surprised if he disappears for a bit. He may possibly decide to go out of town. That’s all, for now.”

The girl drew a long breath.

“You responsible!” she echoed. “If you’re responsible, how, then, about—myself?”

“Elice!” Roberts cut her off peremptorily. “I refuse to listen. Go to bed at once, I insist. I’ll come to-morrow and talk if you wish. Just now it’s all too near. Good-night again.”

An instant later, on the darkened porch without, he had the arm of the doddering old man in the grip of a vise.

“Leave everything here to me,” he said swiftly, “and see to Elice.” He was leading the other toward the entrance. “Listen. See that she goes to bed—at once; and you too. I’ll attend to everything else. Trust me,” and 274 very gently he himself closed the door behind the other two.

It was after office hours of the day following when Stephen Armstrong, a bit pale but carefully groomed this time, entered the outer room of Darley Roberts’ office and, with decided reluctance, approached the private apartment beyond. The door was open. Seated before the big desk, shirt-sleeved as usual, Roberts sat working. As the newcomer approached he wheeled about.

“Come in,” he said simply. “I’m glad to see you.”

The visitor took a seat by the open window and looked out rather obviously.

“I just received your note a bit ago,” he began perfunctorily, “and called instead of giving you an appointment, as you asked. It’s the least I could do after last night.” He halted, looking at the building opposite steadily. “I want you to know that I appreciate thoroughly what you did for me then. I—I’m heartily ashamed, of course.”

“Don’t speak of it, please,” swiftly. “I’ve forgotten it and I’m sure Miss Gleason and her father have done the same. No one else knows, so let’s consider it never occurred. It never 275 will again, I’m sure, so what’s the use of remembering? Is it agreed?”

Armstrong’s narrow shoulders lifted in silence.

“As for not speaking of it again,” he answered after a moment, “yes. Whether or not in the future, however—I’m not liar enough to promise things I can’t deliver.”

“But you can ‘deliver,’ as you say,” shortly. “You know it yourself.”

Armstrong shook his head.

“I’m not as bumptious as I was a few years ago,” he commented. “I’d have said ‘yes’ then undoubtedly. Now—I don’t know.”

Roberts swung about in his desk chair, the crease between his eyes suddenly grown deep.

“Nonsense,” he refuted curtly. “You’re not the first man in the world who has done something to regret. Every one has in some way or another—and profited by the experience. It’s forgotten already, I say, man. Let it pass at that, and go ahead as though nothing had happened. By the way, have you had supper—or do you call it dinner?”

For the first time Armstrong looked at the speaker and, forgetting for the instant, he almost smiled. The question was characteristic.

“I’ve already dined, thank you,” he said. 276

Without comment Roberts called up the cafÉ and ordered delivered his customary busy-day lunch of sandwiches and coffee.

“I’m going East on the eleven-fifty limited to-night,” he explained, “and there are several things I’ve got to see to first.” In voluntary relaxation from work he slipped down in the big chair until his head rested on the back. Thereafter for a long time, for longer doubtless than he realized, he sat so, looking at the other man; not rudely or unpleasantly, but with the old, absent, analytical expression large upon his face. At last he roused.

“I suppose,” he began abruptly, “you’re wondering what it is I wish to speak with you about. I’ll explain in advance that it’s of your personal affairs purely, nothing else. Would you prefer me not to intrude?”

For a moment Armstrong did not answer, but with an effort he looked at the questioner directly.

“If it were a couple of days back,” he said, “I should have answered ‘yes’ emphatically. Now—” his glance wandered out the window, resting on the brick wall opposite, “now I hardly know. You’ve earned a sort of right to wield the probe; and besides—” 277

“Never mind the right,” shortly. “I tell you last night is forgotten. I meant to see you and have the same talk anyway—with your permission.”

Still Armstrong hesitated, looking steadily away. “You’ve condoned the fact, then, that I’ve cut you dead on the street regularly?”

“I understood—and didn’t blame you. There are dozens of people who know Old Man Roberts and still never see him when passing face to face. It’s all in the game.”

At last Armstrong’s glance returned, almost with wonder. “And you don’t lay it up against them?”

“Sometimes. Usually, however, not. Life’s too short to play with toys; and enmities are toys—double-edged ones at that. You haven’t answered my question yet.”

“I know; but just a moment more. Do you recall, by the way, a prophecy I made once, years ago?”

“Yes; it never came true as far as I am concerned.”

“Perhaps you never had cause to have it do so.”

“Possibly.”

“With me it did come about. I’ve hated you 278 ever since—from the day you left. Do you realize why I haven’t answered your question?”

“Yes, why you haven’t. I’m still waiting.”

“I’m wondering,” mused Armstrong, “why I don’t hate you, now that we’re here together. I’ve thought a lot of bitter things about you, more than about any one in the world. I don’t know why I don’t say them now that I’ve got the chance.”

“Yes, you have the chance. I’m listening.”

“I know.” Armstrong’s long fingers were twitching nervously. Despite an effort to prevent his lower lip trembled in sympathy. “And still, now that for the first time I have the chance, I can’t. I don’t want to. I—” Of a sudden an uncontrollable moisture came into his eyes, and he shifted about abruptly until his face was hid. “Damn you, Darley Roberts!” he stormed inadequately, “I don’t want to a bit, but after all I trust you and—and like you. You have my permission to intrude. I want you to, have wanted you to a hundred times.” The Rubicon was crossed at last and he made the admission that for long had trembled on his tongue. “Somehow I can’t get along without you and keep my nerve. I think you’re the only person in the world who even in a measure understands me, and can maybe make a man of me again.”

“You mean to suggest that Elice,” he began, “that Elice—You dare to suggest that to me?” (Page 107)