“Why will he know all about it?”

“Because he was with Clay.  He’s the man the paper says the police are looking for—­the man with Clay when it happened.”

Her father’s eyes lit.  “That’s good guessing, Bee.”

It was her fiance’s man who answered the girl’s call.  She learned that Clarendon was still in his room.

“He’s quite sick this morning, Miss,” the valet added.

“Tell him I want to talk with him.  It’s important.”

“I don’t think, Miss, that he’s able—­”

“Will you please tell him what I say?”

Presently the voice of Bromfield, thin and worried, came to her over the wire.  “I’m ill, Bee.  Absolutely done up.  I—­I can’t talk.”

“Tell me about Clay Lindsay.  Were you with him when—­when it happened?”

There was a perceptible pause before the answer came.

“With him?” She could feel his terror throbbing over the wire.  Though she could not see him, she knew her question had stricken him white.  “With him where?”

“At this gambling-house—­Maddock’s?”

“No, I—­I—­Bee, I tell you I’m ill.”

“He went out last night to join you at your club.  I know that.  When did you see him last?”

“I—­we didn’t—­he didn’t come.”

“Then didn’t you see him at all?”

There was another pause, significant and telling, followed by a quavering “No-o.”

“Clary, I want to see you—­right away.”

“I’m ill, I tell you—­can’t leave my bed.”  He gave a groan too genuine to doubt.

Beatrice hung up the receiver.  Her eyes sparked.  For all her slimness, she looked both competent and dangerous.

“What does he say?” her father asked.

“Says he didn’t meet Clay at all—­that he didn’t show up.  Dad, there’s something wrong about it.  Clary’s in a panic about something.  I’m going to see him, no matter whether he can leave his room or not.”

Whitford looked dubious.  “I don’t see—­”

“Well, I do,” his daughter cut him off decisively.  “We’re going to his rooms—­now.  Why not?  He says he’s ill.  All right.  I’m engaged to be married to him and I’ve a right to see how ill he is.”

“What’s in your noodle, honey?  You’ve got some kind of a suspicion.  What is it?”

“I think Clary knows something.  My notion is that he was at Maddock’s and that he’s in a blue funk for fear he’ll be found and named as an accessory.  I’m going to find out all he can tell me.”

“But—­”

She looked at her father directly, a deep meaning in the lovely eyes.  A little tremor ran through her body.  “Dad, I’m going to save Clay.  That’s the only thing that counts.”

Her words were an appeal, a challenge.  They told him that her heart belonged to the friend in prison, and they carried him back somehow to the hour when the nurse first laid her, a tiny baby, in his arms.