-why need the old man have been so unreasonable when all the delay
you ask is another twelvemonth? Believe me, he had some excellent
reason for his anxiety. Finally, if the old villain isn't fomenting
some especially foul villainy, why need he sneak from here to-night to
the lowest dive in town to meet and confer with a gang leader and
murderer like Red November?"

"What are you talking about now?" demanded the bewildered girl.

"An hour or so ago I met old Brian coming out of a dive known as Dutch
House, the worst in this old Town. What business had he there, if he's
an honest man? I can't tell you because I don't know. But it was
foul--that's certain. Else why need he have incited Red and his
followers to drug Peter Kenny into forgetfulness? Peter found him
there before I did. It was only after the deuce of a row that I got
the boy away alive."

Temporarily he suppressed mention of Peter's hurt. The girl had enough
to occupy her without being subjected to further drain upon her
sympathies.

"I'd like to know!" he wound up gloomily.... "That old scoundrel never
visited Dutch House out of simple curiosity; and whatever his purpose,
one thing's sure--it wasn't one to stand daylight. It's been puzzling
me ever since--an appointment of some sort he made with November just
as I hove within earshot. '_Two-thirty_,' he said; and November
repeated the hour and promised to be on the job. 'Two-thirty!'--what
_can_ it mean? It's later than that now but--mark my words!--something's
going to happen this afternoon, or to-morrow, or some time soon, at
half-past two o'clock!"

"Perhaps you're right," said the girl doubtfully. "And yet you may be
wrong in thinking me involved in any way. Indeed, I'm sure you must be
wrong. I can't believe that he could wish me actual harm."

"Miss Blessington," said P. Sybarite solemnly, "when you ran off in
that taxi at midnight, I had five dollars in all the world. This
minute, as I stand, I'm worth twenty-five thousand--more money than I
ever hoped to see in this life. It means a lot to me--a start toward
independence--but I'd give every cent of it for some reliable
assurance that Brian Shaynon and his son mean you no harm."

Surprised and impressed by his unwonted seriousness, the girl
instinctively shrank back against the balustrade.

"Mr. Sybarite--!" she murmured, wide-eyed.

He remarked her action with a gesture almost of supplication.

"Don't be alarmed," he begged; and there was i