He pressed a button on the wall and a maid appeared.

“You will have to wait for a couple of hours or so, at least, so if you would like to take off your things?” he suggested with grave courtesy.  “I dare say the suite just above is habitable, and the maid is at your service.”

The girl regarded him pensively for a moment, then turning ran swiftly up the stairs.  The maid started to follow more staidly.

“Just a moment,” said Mr. Wynne crisply, in an undertone.  “Miss Kellner is not to be allowed to use the telephone under any circumstances.  You understand?” She nodded silently and went up the stairs.

An hour passed.  From the swivel chair at his desk Mr. Wynne had twice seen Sutton stroll past on the opposite side of the street; and then Claflin had lounged along.  Suddenly he arose and went to the window, throwing back the curtains.  Sutton was leaning against an electric-light pole, half a block away; Claflin was half a block off in the other direction, in casual conversation with a policeman.  Mr. Wynne looked them over thoughtfully.  Curiously enough he was wondering just how he would fare in a physical contest with either, or both.

He turned away from the window at last and glanced at his watch impatiently.  One hour and forty minutes!  In another half an hour the little bell over his desk should ring.  That would mean that a pigeon had arrived from—­from out there, and that the automatic door had closed upon it as it entered the cote.  But if it didn’t come—­ if it didn’t come!  Then what?  There was only one conclusion to be drawn, and he shuddered a little when he thought of it.  There could only remain this single possibility when he considered the sinister things that had happened—­the failure of the girl to get an answer by telephone, and the unexpected appearance of Red Haney with the uncut diamonds.  It might be necessary for him to go out there, and how could he do it?  How, without leaving an open trail behind him?  How, without inviting defeat in the fight he was making?

His meditations were interrupted by the appearance of Miss Kellner.  She had crept down the stairs noiselessly, and stood beside him before he was aware of her presence.  Her eyes sought his countenance questioningly, and the deadly pallor of her face frightened him.  She crept into his arms and nestled there silently with dry, staring eyes.  He stroked the golden-brown hair with an utter sense of helplessness.

“Nothing yet,” he said finally, and there was a thin assumption of cheeriness in his tone.  “It may be another hour, but it will come—­ it will come.”

“But if it doesn’t, Gene?” she queried insistently.  Always her mind went back to that possibility.

“We shall cross no bridges until we reach them,” he replied.  “There is always a chance that the pigeons might have gone astray, for they have this single disadvantage against the incalculable advantage of offering no clew to any one as to where they go; and it is impossible to follow them.  If nothing comes in half an hour now I shall send two more.”