Suddenly, however, the old tense lines reappeared.  Another idea seemed to have been suggested.

“Is—­Lane—­hiring the men—­himself?” he murmured.

The sight of Maude Euston had prompted the thought of his rival, now with a clear field.  What did it mean?  Was he jealous of Lane, or did his words have a deeper meaning?  What difference could it have made if Lane had a free hand in managing the shipment of treasure for the company?

Kennedy looked long and carefully at the face of the sick man.  It was blue and cyanosed still, and his lips had a violet tinge.  Barnes had been coughing a great deal.  Now and then his mouth was flecked with foamy blood, which the nurse wiped gently away.  Kennedy picked up a piece of the blood-soaked gauze.

A moment later we withdrew from the room as quietly as we had entered and tiptoed down the hall, Miss Euston and the young doctor following us more slowly.  As we reached the door, I turned to see where she was.  A distinguished-looking elderly gentleman, sitting in the waiting-room, had happened to glance up as she passed and had moved quickly to the hall.

“What—­you here, Maude?” we heard him say.

“Yes, father.  I thought I might be able to do something for Granville.”

She accompanied the remark with a sidelong glance and nod at us, which Kennedy interpreted to mean that we might as well keep in the background.  Euston himself, far from chiding her, seemed rather to be pleased than otherwise.  We could not hear all they said, but one sentence was wafted over.

“It’s most unfortunate, Maude, at just this time.  It leaves the whole matter in the hands of Lane.”

At the mention of Lane, which her father accompanied by a keen glance, she flushed a little and bit her lip.  I wondered whether it meant more than that, of the two suitors, her father obviously preferred Barnes.

Euston had called to see Barnes, and, as the doctor led him up the hall again, Miss Euston rejoined us.

“You need not drive us back,” thanked Kennedy.  “Just drop us at the Subway.  I’ll let you know the moment I have arrived at any conclusion.”

On the train we happened to run across a former classmate, Morehead, who had gone into the brokerage business.

“Queer about that Barnes case, isn’t it?” suggested Kennedy, after the usual greetings were over.  Then, without suggesting that we were more than casually interested, “What does the Street think of it?”

“It is queer,” rejoined Morehead.  “All the boys down-town are talking about it—­wondering how it will affect the transit of the gold shipments.  I don’t know what would happen if there should be a hitch.  But they ought to be able to run the thing through all right.”

“It’s a pretty ticklish piece of business, then?” I suggested.

“Well, you know the state of the market just now—­a little push one way or the other means a lot.  And I suppose you know that the insiders on the Street have boosted Continental Express up until it is practically one of the ‘war stocks,’ too.  Well, good-by—­ here’s my station.”