And so it was that when the message came in, that evening, over the telephone, the news that Kate had been injured in an auto-accident which had entirely destroyed the machine and killed Herrick, he paled, trembled, and clutched the receiver, hardly able to hold it to his ear with his shaking hand.

“Here!  You!” he cried.  “She—­she’s not badly hurt?  She’s living?  She’s safe?  No lies, now!  The truth!”

“Your daughter is very much alive, and perfectly safe,” a voice answered.  “This is Doctor MacDougal, of Haverstraw, speaking.  The patient is now having a superficial scalp wound dressed by my assistant.  You can speak to her, in a few minutes, if you like.”

“Now!  For God’s sake, let me speak now!” entreated the Billionaire; but the doctor refused.  Not all Flint’s urging or bribing would turn him one hair’s breadth.

“No,” he insisted.  “In ten minutes she can talk to you.  Not now.  But have no fear, sir.  She is perfectly safe and—­barring her wound, which will probably heal almost without a scar—­is as well as ever.  A little nervous and unstrung, of course, but that’s to be expected.”

“What happened, and how?” demanded Flint, in terrible agitation.

The doctor briefly gave him such facts as he knew, ending with the statement that a passing automobilist had brought the girl to him, and outlining the situation of the first-aid measures in the sugar-house.  At the thought that Herrick, the drunken cause of it all, was dead and burned, Flint smiled with real satisfaction.

“Damn him!  It’s too good for the scum!” he muttered.  Then, aloud, he asked over the wire: 

“And who was the rescuer?”

“I don’t know,” MacDougal answered.  “Your daughter didn’t tell me.  But from what I’ve learned, he must have been a man of rare strength and presence of mind.  It may well be that you owe your daughter’s life to his prompt work.”

“I’ll find him, yet.  He’ll be suitably rewarded,” thought the Billionaire.  “No matter what my enemies have called me, I’m not incapable of gratitude!”

Some few minutes later, having paced the library floor meanwhile, in great excitement, he called the doctor’s house again by long-distance, and this time succeeded in having speech with his daughter.  Her voice, though a little weak, vastly reassured him.  Once more he asked for the outline of the story.  She told him all the essentials, and finished by: 

“Now, come and get me, won’t you, father dear?  I want to go home.  And the quicker you come for me, the happier I’ll be.”

“Bless your heart, Kate!” he exclaimed, deeply moved.  “Nothing like the old man, after all, is there?  Yes, I’ll start at once.  I’ve only been waiting here, to talk with you and know you’re safe.  In five minutes I’ll be on my way, with the racing-car.  And if I don’t break a few records between here and Haverstraw, my name’s not Isaac Flint!”