“No, sir.  It has to deal with blackmailing, however—­but not for my profit.”

“Explain quickly.  I am a busy man.  My motor is waiting now to take me to my office.”

“Look here, Mr. Grimsby, at this memorandum book,” said Shirley, holding forward the list which he had copied from the joy-party article in the theatrical paper.  “With some friends of yours, you held merry carnival to Venus and Bacchus at an all-night lobster palace not long ago.  Have I the right names?”

“This is rank impertinence.  How dare you?  Get out of my house.”

“Not so fast, my dear sir, until you understand my drift.  Throughout Club circles you and Mr. Van Cleft, with these other cronies are sarcastically referred to as the Lobster Club.  Did you know that?”

Grimsby’s face was purple with angry mortification, but Shirley would not be gainsaid.  “I am acting in this matter as a friend of Howard Van Cleft,” he continued.  “Your three friends have met their deaths at the hand of a cunning conspirator.  Last night, white I talked with you on the telephone, young Van Cleft was receiving advice over another wire from a person who pretended to be William Grimsby—­advising him to hush the matter up and drop the investigation.  But—­Captain Cronin the famous detective—­has received a tip that the number of victims would be increased very soon—­frankly, now:  do you want to be the fourth?”

Grimsby’s face changed to ashen gray, as he timidly clutched Shirley’s sleeve.

“Then cooperate with me.  You understand now the nature of this villain’s work:  to rob and assassinate his victim in the company of a girl, so that this would endeavor to hush the scandal, without reporting it to the police.  His progress is unchecked, and afterwards he would have untold opportunity for continuing a demand for hush money on the surviving relatives.  May I count on you to help?”

“You may count on me to leave the city within the next two hours.”

“Good!  But I want to have you disappear so quietly that this cunning unknown will not know of it.  He is watching your house now, without a doubt.”

Grimsby strode to the window, with his characteristic limp, and drew the heavy curtains aside, to peer out nervously.

“No one is in sight.”

“The man is as unseen in his work as a germ.  But he is not unheard:  he uses the telephone to locate his victims, that is why I advised you to let your instrument ring unanswered.”

“I’ll do what I can, if I can keep out of more danger.  An old man craves life more than a young one.  I fought through the Civil War and brought a medal from Congress and this wounded knee out of it, Mr. Shirley.  I didn’t fear anything then, but times have changed!”