They parted at the entrance to the Camelot Club, and Kent went two squares farther on to the Wellington.  Ormsby had not yet returned, and Kent went to the telephone and called up the Brentwood apartments.  It was Penelope that answered.

“Well, I think you owe it,” she began, as soon as he had given his name.  “What did I do at Miss Van Brock’s to make you cut me dead?”

“Why, nothing at all, I’m sure.  I—­I was looking for Mr. Ormsby, and——­”

“Not when I saw you,” she broke in flippantly.  “You were handing Miss Portia an ice.  Are you still looking for Mr. Ormsby?”

“I am—­just that.  Is he with you?”

“No; he left here about twenty minutes ago.  Is it anything serious?”

“Serious enough to make me want to find him as soon as I can.  Did he say he was coming down to the Wellington?”

“Of course, he didn’t,” laughed Penelope.  And then:  “Whatever is the matter with you this evening, Mr. Kent?”

“I guess I’m a little excited,” said Kent.  “Something has happened—­something I can’t talk about over the wires.  It concerns you and your mother and sister.  You’ll know all about it as soon as I can find Ormsby and send him out to you.”

Penelope’s “Oh!” was long-drawn and gasping.

“Is any one dead?” she faltered.

“No, no; it’s nothing of that kind.  I’ll send Ormsby out, and he will tell you all about it.”

“Can’t you come yourself?”

“I may have to if I can’t find Ormsby.  Please don’t let your mother go to bed until you have heard from one or the other of us.  Did you get that?”

“Ye-es; but I should like to know more—­a great deal more.”

“I know; and I’d like to tell you.  But I am using the public telephone here at the Wellington, and—­Oh, damn!” Central had cut him out, and it was some minutes before the connection was switched in again.  “Is that you, Miss Penelope?  All right; I wasn’t quite through.  When Ormsby comes, you must do as he tells you to, and you and Miss Elinor must help him convince your mother.  Do you understand?”

“No, I don’t understand anything.  For goodness’ sake, find Mr. Ormsby and make him run!  This is perfectly dreadful!”

“Isn’t it?  And I’m awfully sorry.  Good-by.”

Kent hung up the receiver, and when he was asking a second time at the clerk’s desk for the missing man, Ormsby came in to answer for himself.  Whereupon the crisis was outlined to him in brief phrase, and he rose to the occasion, though not without a grimace.

“I’m not sure just how well you know Mrs. Hepzibah Brentwood,” he demurred; “but it will be quite like her to balk.  Don’t you think you’d better go along?  You are the company’s attorney, and your opinion ought to carry some weight.”

David Kent thought not; but a cautious diplomatist, having got the idea well into the back part of his head, was not to be denied.