we
went to bed. We s'posed after we got up this mo'nin' he was sleepin'
in his room till the paper come and I looked at it." Johnnie gave way
to lament. "I told him awhile ago we had orto go back to Arizona or
they'd git him. And now they've gone and done it sure enough."

Keen as a hawk on the hunt, Beatrice turned to her father quickly.
"I'm going to get Clarendon on the 'phone. He'll know all about it."

"Why will he know all about it?"

"Because he was with Clay. He's the man the paper says the police are
looking for--the man with Clay when it happened."

Her father's eyes lit. "That's good guessing, Bee."

It was her fiance's man who answered the girl's call. She learned that
Clarendon was still in his room.

"He's quite sick this morning, Miss," the valet added.

"Tell him I want to talk with him. It's important."

"I don't think, Miss, that he's able--"

"Will you please tell him what I say?"

Presently the voice of Bromfield, thin and worried, came to her over
the wire. "I'm ill, Bee. Absolutely done up. I--I can't talk."

"Tell me about Clay Lindsay. Were you with him when--when it happened?"

There was a perceptible pause before the answer came.

"With him?" She could feel his terror throbbing over the wire. Though
she could not see him, she knew her question had stricken him white.
"With him where?"

"At this gambling-house--Maddock's?"

"No, I--I--Bee, I tell you I'm ill."

"He went out last night to join you at your club. I know that. When
did you see him last?"

"I--we didn't--he didn't come."

"Then didn't you see him at all?"

There was another pause, significant and telling, followed by a
quavering "No-o."

"Clary, I want to see you--right away."

"I'm ill, I tell you--can't leave my bed." He gave a groan too genuine
to doubt.

Beatrice hung up the receiver. Her eyes sparked. For all her
slimness, she looked both competent and dangerous.

"What does he say?" her father asked.

"Says he didn't meet Clay at all--that he didn't show up. Dad, there's
something wrong about it. Clary's in a panic about something. I'm
going to see him, no matter whether he can leave his room or not."

Whitford looked dubious. "I don't see--"

"Well, I do," his daughter cut him off decisively. "We're going to his
rooms--now. Why not? He says he's ill. All right. I'm engaged to be
married to him and I've a right to see how ill he is."

"What's in your noodle, honey?