“No.”

“Why not?”

“I thought of doing it, then I decided against it.  For the same reason I just gave you—­that it might lead to exposure, and that exposure would defeat my plans.”

“You seem to be forgetting that your plan leaves Dick in danger.  Dick deserves some consideration.”

“And I’m giving it to him,” argued Larry.  “I’m thinking of him as much as of Maggie.  Or almost as much.  His sister and friends have pulled him out of a lot of scrapes.  He’s not a bit wiser or better for that kind of help.  And it’s not going to do him any good whatever to have some one step in and take care of him again.  He’s been a good friend to me, but he’s a dear fool.  I want to handle this so he’ll get a jolt that will waken him up—­make him take his responsibilities more seriously—­make him able to take care of himself.”

“Huh!” grunted Hunt.  “You’ve certainly picked out a few man-sized jobs for yourself:  to make a success of the straight life for yourself—­to come out ahead of the police and your old pals—­to make Maggie love the Ten Commandments—­to put me across—­to make Dick into a level-headed citizen.  Any other little item you’d like to take on?”

Larry ignored the irony of the question.  “Some of those things I’m going to do,” he said confidently.  “And any I see I’m going to fail in, I’ll get warning to the people involved.  But to come back to your promise:  are you willing to give your promise now that you know all the facts?”

Hunt pulled for a long moment at his pipe.  Then he said almost gruffly: 

“I guess you’ve guessed that Isabel Sherwood is about the most important person in the world to me?”

That was the nearest Hunt had ever come to telling that he loved Miss Sherwood.  Larry nodded.

“I’m in bad there already.  Suppose your foot slips and everything about Dick goes wrong.  What’ll be my situation when she learns I’ve known all along and have just stood by quietly and let things happen?  See what I’ll be letting myself in for?”

“I do,” said Larry, his spirits sinking.  “And of course I can understand your decision not to give your promise.”

“Who said I wouldn’t give my promise?” demanded Hunt.  “Of course I give my promise!  All I said was that the weather bureau of my bad toe predicts that there’s likely to be a storm because of this—­and I want you to use your brain, son, I want you to use your brain!”

He upreared his big, shag-haired figure and gripped Larry’s hand.  “You’re all right, Larry—­and here’s wishing you luck!  Now get to hell out of here before Gavegan and Casey drop in for a cup of tea, or your old friends begin target practice with their hip artillery.  I want a little quiet in which to finish my packing.

“And say, son,” he added, as he pushed Larry through the door, “don’t fall dead at the sight of me when you see me next, for I’m likely to be walking around inside all the finery and vanity of Fifth Avenue.”