She could hear Bob’s—­her husband’s voice inside, raised in the best of humor.  Evidently he was telephoning.

“Yes.  Two hours ago, I tell you.  With book, bell, and candle.  Sure, I’m happy—­couldn’t be otherwise, for I’m drunk and married.  I knew you’d be glad.  What?  No; glad because I’m married.”

Jim’s footsteps sounded, his hand opened the door, then his arm flew out to his sister’s support as she staggered in.

“Sis!  What the devil?” he cried, aghast at sight of her.

“Something—­dreadful.”

Bob continued his cheerful colloquy over the wire.  “Just got in from your nightly joy-ride, eh?  Lucky I caught you.  Say!  Here she is now.  We’ll expect a marble clock with gilt cupids from you, Merkle—­Want to say hello?” He lurched aside from the telephone as Lorelei snatched the receiver from his hand.

“Mr. Merkle,” she cried.

“Hello!  Yes.  Is that you?” came Merkle’s steady voice.

“Come quick—­quick.”

“What’s wrong?” he demanded, with a sharp change of tone.  “Has Bob—?”

“No, no.  It’s Mr. Hammon.  He’s down-stairs with—­Lilas, and he’s hurt—­shot.  I—­I’m frightened.”

She turned to find Bob and Jim staring at her.

“Come,” she gasped.  “I think he’s—­dying.”

She led the way swiftly, and they followed.

CHAPTER XV

Merkle found his chauffeur just closing the garage door, and three minutes later his car was sweeping westward through the Park like the shadow of some flying bird.  The vagueness, the brevity of the message that had come to him out of the night made it terribly alarming.  Hammon of all men!  And at this time!  Merkle’s mind leaped to the consequences of the catastrophe, if catastrophe it proved.  He remembered the issues raised by the sudden death of another associate—­also a man of standing and the head of a great industrial combination—­and the avalanche of misfortune that it had started.  In that case death had been attributed to apoplexy, but when the truth leaked out it had created a terrible scandal.  Fortunately, that man’s business affairs had been well ordered, and, although his family had been ruined, his institutions had managed to survive the blow.  But Jarvis Hammon’s financial interests were in no condition to withstand a shock; for a long time many of them had been under fire.  He had committed his associates to a program of commercial expansion, never too secure even under favorable conditions, and one, moreover, which had provoked a tremendous assault from rival steel manufacturers.  Now, with Hammon himself stricken at the crisis of the struggle, there was no telling what results might follow.

But Merkle’s apprehensions were by no means as purely selfish as his immediate train of thought might imply; nor were they by any means confined to the probable cost in dollars and cents of his associate’s death.  Hammon and he had been friends for many years; they shared a mutual respect and affection, and, although Merkle was eminently practical and unemotional, he prayed now as best he could that this alarm might be false, and that Hammon might not be grievously injured.  Meanwhile he wedged himself into the cushions of the reeling car and urged his driver to more speed.