“What trial was that?” asked Meakim.

Holcombe laughed and shook his head as he moved on down the stairs.  “Don’t ask embarrassing questions, Meakim,” he said.  “It was one you won’t forget in a hurry.”

“Oh!” said Meakim, with a grin.  “All right.  There’s some mail for you in the office.”

“Thank you,” said Holcombe.

* * * * *

A few hours later Carroll was watching the roulette wheel in the gambling-hall of the Isabella when he saw Meakim come in out of the darkness, and stand staring in the doorway, blinking at the lights and mopping his face.  He had been running, and was visibly excited.  Carroll crossed over to him and pushed him out into the quiet of the terrace.  “What is it?” he asked.

“Have you seen Holcombe?” Meakim demanded in reply.

“Not since this afternoon.  Why?”

Meakim breathed heavily, and fanned himself with his hat.  “Well, he’s after Winthrop Allen, that’s all,” he panted.  “And when he finds him there’s going to be a muss.  The boy’s gone crazy.  He’s not safe.”

“Why?  What do you mean?  What’s Allen done to him?”

“Nothing to him, but to a friend of his.  He got a letter to-night in the mail that came with Allen.  It was from his sister.  She wrote him all the latest news about Allen, and give him fits for robbing an old lady who’s been kind to her.  She wanted that Holcombe should come right back and see what could be done about it.  She didn’t know, of course, that Allen was coming here.  The old lady kept a private school on Fifth Avenue, and Allen had charge of her savings.”

“What is her name?” Carroll asked.

“Field, I think.  Martha Field was—­”

“The dirty blackguard!” cried Carroll.  He turned sharply away and returned again to seize Meakim’s arm.  “Go on,” he demanded.  “What did she say?”

“You know her too, do you?” said Meakim, shaking his head sympathetically.  “Well, that’s all.  She used to teach his sister.  She seems to be a sort of fashionable—­”

“I know,” said Carroll, roughly.  “She taught my sister.  She teaches everybody’s sister.  She’s the sweetest, simplest old soul that ever lived.  Holcombe’s dead right to be angry.  She almost lived at their house when his sister was ill.”

“Tut! you don’t say?” commented Meakim, gravely.  “Well, his sister’s pretty near crazy about it.  He give me the letter to read.  It got me all stirred up.  It was just writ in blood.  She must be a fine girl, his sister.  She says this Miss Martha’s money was the last thing Allen took.  He didn’t use her stuff, to speculate with, but cashed it in just before he sailed and took it with him for spending-money.  His sister says she’s too proud to take help, and she’s too old to work.”

“How much did he take?”

“Sixty thousand.  She’s been saving for over forty years.”

Carroll’s mind took a sudden turn.  “And Holcombe?” he demanded, eagerly.  “What is he going to do?  Nothing silly, I hope.”