“Well, I’m sorry to bring bad news, but there’s been a nasty accident.  Mr. Hilmer’s car went over a bank near Montara this afternoon...  Mrs. Hilmer was hurt pretty badly, but everybody else is fairly well off...  Your wife asked me to drop in and see you.  I drove the car that helped rescue them...  Don’t be alarmed; Mrs. Starratt isn’t hurt beyond a tough shaking up.  But she feels she ought to stay with Mrs. Hilmer—­under the circumstances.”

Fred tried to appear calm.  “Oh yes, of course ... naturally...  And how about Hilmer himself?”

The man shrugged.  “He’s pretty fair.  So far a broken arm is all they’ve found wrong with him.”

“His right arm, I suppose?” Fred suggested, with an air of resignation.  He was wondering whether anybody at Hilmer’s office had authority to sign checks.

“Yes,” the visitor assented, briefly.

Fred Starratt had a hasty meal and then he took a direct car line for the Hilmers’.  He had never been to their house, but he found just about what he had expected—­a two-story hand-me-down dwelling in the Richmond district, a bit more pretentious and boasting greater garden space than most of the homes in the block.  Helen answered his ring.  She had her wrist in a tight bandage.

“Just a sprain,” she explained, rather loftily.  “The doctor says it will be all right in a day or two.”

Fred sat down in an easy-chair and glanced up and down the living room.  It was scrupulously neat, reflecting a neutral taste.  The furniture was a mixture of golden and fumed oak done in heavy mission style and the pictures on the wall consisted of dubious oil paintings and enlarged photographs.  A victrola stood in a corner, and the upright piano near the center of the room formed a background for a precisely draped, imitation mandarin skirt and a convenient shelf for family photographs and hand-painted vases.  On the mantel an elaborate onyx-and-bronze clock ticked inaudibly.

Helen sat apart, almost with the detachment of a hostess receiving a casual acquaintance, as she recounted the incidents of the disastrous ride.  Hilmer had been driving fairly carefully, but in swerving to avoid running down a cow that suddenly had made its appearance in the road the machine had skidded and gone over a steep bank.  Mrs. Hilmer’s condition was really quite serious.  The doctor had intimated that even if she pulled through she might never walk again.  They had a nurse, of course—­two, in fact—­but some one had to be there to look after things.  The servant girl was just a raw Swede who did the heavy work—­Mrs. Hilmer always had done most of the cooking herself.

Fred inquired for Hilmer.  He had a broken wrist and several bad sprains and bruises, but he was resting easily.

“I didn’t get that check for the premiums to-day,” Fred said.

Helen rose from her seat.  “I’ll speak to him about it to-morrow,” she returned, lightly.