As he faced himself in the mirror he noted his sunken eyes and ghastly color, and Denning, entering behind him, noted it, too, with a quick thrill of sympathy.  He had come to accept as fact his fear, expressed in the directors’ room.  Gard must be suffering from some deadly disease.

“You look all in, Gard,” he said regretfully.  “I’m sorry I had to drive you so.”  He hesitated.  “Has—­have the doctors been giving you a scare about yourself?”

Gard divined the other’s version of his strange actions, and jumped at an excuse that explained and covered much.

“Don’t talk about it,” he said gruffly.  “You know it won’t do to have rumors about my health going round.”

Denning took the remark as a tacit acquiescence.  His face expressed genuine sympathy and compassion.

“I’m sorry,” he said slowly.

Gard looked up and frowned, yet the kindliness extended, though it was for an imaginary reason, was grateful to him.

“Well, I can take all the extra sympathy anyone has just now,” he answered in a tone that carried conviction.  “I’ve had a good deal to struggle against recently—­but I’m not whipped yet.”

“Oh, you’ll be all right,” Denning encouraged.  “You’re a young man still, and you’ve got the energy of ten young bucks.  I’ll back you to win.  Cheer up; you’ve got a hard day ahead.”  Gard nodded.  How hard a day his friend little guessed.  “We’ll go on to the hotel when you are ready.  Your first appointment is at nine thirty.  Jim is making breakfast for us here.”

“All right,” said Gard; “I’ll join you in a minute.  Go ahead and get your coffee.”  Left alone, he hurriedly pocketed Mahr’s jewelry, paused a moment to grind the stone of the scarf pin from its setting—­among the cinders of the terminus the gem and its mangled mounting could both be easily lost.  His one desire now was to put himself in telephonic communication with New York, but he did not dare to be too pressing.  However, once at the hotel, he made all arrangements to have a call transferred, and opened connection with Brencherly.  He was shaking with nervousness.  “Any news?” he asked.

“None, Mr. Gard, I’m sorry,” the detective’s voice sounded over the wire, “except that I’ve followed your instructions with regard to the young lady.  I’ve not left the ’phone, sir; slept right here in your armchair.  The hospitals have been questioned, and there is nothing reported at police headquarters that could possibly interest you.  I’ve looked over the morning papers carefully to see if there was anything the reporters had that might be a clew.  There’s nothing.  I took the liberty of sending Dr. Balys over to the young lady this morning—­she seemed in such a state; he’ll be back any minute, though.  I’ve got every line pulling on the quiet.  I’ve done my best, sir.”