“He ain’t been as bad as this in years,” he muttered.  “I wonder what she did to him!”

Enoch came out of his room shortly.  “Tell every one I’m in New York, Jonas,” he said, and was gone.

But Enoch did not go to New York.  There was, he found on reaching the station, no train for an hour.  He checked his suitcase, and the watching Jonas followed him out into the dark streets.  He knew exactly whither the boss was heading, and when Enoch had been admitted into a brick house on a quiet street not a stone’s throw from the station, Jonas entered nimbly through the basement.

He had a short conference with a colored man in the kitchen, then he went up to the second floor and sat down in a dark corner of the hall where he could keep an eye on all who entered the rear room.  Well dressed men came and went from the room all night.  It was nearing six o’clock in the morning when Jonas stopped a waiter who was carrying in a tray of coffee.

“How many’s there now?” he demanded.

“Only four,” replied the waiter.  “That red-headed guy’s winning the shirts off their backs.  I’ve seen this kind of a game before.  It’s good for another day.”

“Are any of ’em drinking?” asked Jonas.

“Nothing but coffee.  Lord, I’m near dead!”

“Let me take that tray in for you.  I want to get word to my boss.”

The waiter nodded and, sinking into Jonas’ chair, closed his eyes.

Jonas carried the tray into a handsome, smoke filled room, where four men with intent faces were gathered around a card table.  Enoch, in his shirt sleeves, was dealing as Jonas set a steaming cup at his elbow.  Perhaps the intensity of the colored man’s gaze distracted Enoch’s attention for a moment from the cards.  He looked up and when he met Jonas’ eyes he deliberately laid down the deck, rose, took Jonas by the arm and led him to the door.

“Don’t try this again, Jonas,” he said, and he closed the door after his steward.

Once more Jonas took up his vigil.  He left his chair at nine o’clock to telephone Charley Abbott that the Secretary had gone to New York, then he returned to his place.  Noon came, afternoon waned.  As dusk drew on again, Jonas went once more to the telephone.

“That you, Miss Allen? . . .  This is Jonas. . . .  Yes, ma’am, I’m well, but the boss is in a dangerous condition. . . .  Yes, ma’am, I thought you’d feel bad because you see, it’s your fault. . . .  No, ma’am, I can’t explain over the telephone, but if you’ll come to the station and meet me at the news-stand on the corner, I’ll tell you. . . .  Miss Allen, for God’s sake, just trust me and come along.  Come now, in a cab, and I’ll pay for it. . . .  Thank you!  Thank you, ma’am!  Thank you!”

He banged up the receiver and flew out the basement door.  When he reached the news-stand, he stood with his hands twitching, talking to himself for a half hour before Diana appeared.  She walked up to him as directly as a man would have done.