“Will they let us see him?  Or shall we have to get permission from some one?”

“We’ll have to get an order.  I know the district attorney.  He’ll do what he can for me, but maybe it’ll take time.”

Beatrice rose, strong again and resilient.  Her voice was vibrant with confidence.  “Then after you’ve called up the district attorney, we’ll drive to Clay’s flat in Harlem and find out from Johnnie what he can tell us.  Perhaps he knows what Clay was doing in that place they raided.”

It was not necessary to go to the Runt.  He came to them.  As Beatrice and her father stepped into the car Johnnie and Kitty appeared round the corner.  Both of them had the news of a catastrophe written on their faces.  A very little encouragement and they would be in tears.

“Ain’t it tur’ble, Miss Beatrice?  They done got Clay at last.  After he made ’em all look like plugged nickels they done fixed it so he’ll mebbe go to the electric chair and—­”

“Stop that nonsense, Johnnie,” ordered Miss Whitford sharply, a pain stabbing her heart at his words.  “Don’t begin whining already.  We’ve got to see him through.  Buck up and tell me what you know.”

“That’s right, Johnnie,"’ added the mining man.  “You and Kitty quit looking like the Atlantic Ocean in distress.  We’ve got to endure the grief and get busy.  We’ll get Lindsay out of this hole all right.”

“You’re dawg-goned whistlin’.  Y’betcha, by jollies!” agreed the Runt, immensely cheered by Whitford’s confidence.  “We been drug into this an’ we’ll sure hop to it.”

“When did you see Clay last?  How did he come to be in that gambling-house?  Did he say anything to you about going there?” The girl’s questions tumbled over each other in her hurry.

“Well, ma’am, it must ‘a’ been about nine o’clock that Clay he left last night.  I recollect because—­”

“It doesn’t matter why.  Where was he going?”

“To meet Mr. Bromfield at his club,” said Kitty.

“Mr. Bromfield!” cried Beatrice, surprised.  “Are you sure?”

“Tha’s what Clay said,” corroborated the husband.  “Mr. Bromfield invited him.  We both noticed it because it seemed kinda funny, him and Clay not bein’—­”

“Johnnie,” his wife reproved, mindful of the relationship between this young woman and the clubman.

“Did he say which club?”

“Seems to me he didn’t, not as I remember.  How about that, Kitty?”

“No, I’m sure he didn’t.  He said he wouldn’t be back early.  So we went to bed.  We s’posed after we got up this mo’nin’ he was sleepin’ in his room till the paper come and I looked at it.”  Johnnie gave way to lament.  “I told him awhile ago we had orto go back to Arizona or they’d git him.  And now they’ve gone and done it sure enough.”

Keen as a hawk on the hunt, Beatrice turned to her father quickly.  “I’m going to get Clarendon on the ’phone.  He’ll know all about it.”