He did not care much for Logan, who had been a classmate of his at college, and whose acquaintance he had not cultivated since.  Still he had nothing against the fellow except that he was a “dude” and something of an ass, whose outlook on life was so different from Petro’s that friendship was impossible.  They met occasionally at the New Cosmopolitan Club, of which they had both been members for some years, and at houses where their different “sets” touched distantly.  If they talked at all, they talked of old times, but each bored the other.  Petro, however, could never bear to refuse any one a favour, even if granting it were an uncongenial task.  This peculiarity was constitutional and too well known for his comfort.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked in a tone polite, but void of personal interest.

“To come home with me quick and get me out of a horrid scrape.  No trouble for you—­but a lot for me without a pal to see me through.  I won’t keep you more than a few minutes, if you’re engaged anywhere.”

“I’m not engaged.  But—­” Petro began, only to be cut short.

“Come along, then, for the Lord’s sake.  Tell you everything when we’re there.”  And taking Rolls affectionately by the arm, the other rushed him out of the club.

“House shut up, you know.  But I stay there.  My man’ll let us in the basement way, if you don’t mind,” Logan explained disjointedly as they hurried along the street to the dwelling four doors away.

Sims, obedient to instructions flung at him over his master’s shoulder when the girl had been let out, now awaited Logan’s return at the tradesmen’s entrance.  The two young men were admitted and the door locked behind them.  A minute more and they were in the rosily glowing dining-room, where the white table still offered attractive refreshment.

“Sit down,” said Logan, and as he said it a great knocking began somewhere.

Listening in surprise, Petro forgot to accept the invitation—­which might have been more tempting if he had not, about half an hour ago, finished dinner.  Logan repeated the words, however, and even pulled out a chair for Petro, who took it.  Logan seized the other, and Petro, following his host’s example, drew up to the table.  Still the pounding went on, more loudly than before, if possible.  It began to seem rather like something in a play when you had missed the first scene and didn’t quite understand what it was all about.

“I think, sir, it’s some one at the door,” calmly announced Sims, raising his voice decorously, to be heard over the noise.  “Shall I see who it is, or shall I let them knock and go away?”

“See who it is, and if it’s the police, make no objection to their coming in.  Be surprised, but not frightened, and say Mr. Logan has a friend supping with him.  Savvy?”

“Yes, sir,” responded Sims, and vanished.

“No time to let you into this stunt on the ground floor,” went on Logan.  “But I will as soon as the turn’s over.  For all sakes, keep mum while I talk.”