As Warren studied his white face there came a tinkle on the telephone.

“What’s that?  Who’s that?” Warren turned and ran toward the instrument, still studying the face of his companion.  It was evident that a seed of distrust was planted in his bosom.  He answered nervously.

“Yes, yes!  What do you want?  Who’s speaking?”

Then he listened, and a wise expression came over his face.  It broke into a smile for the first time since he entered the room.  He winked at Taylor who drew near him.  Shirley strained his ears to catch the words.

“Yes, yes, why, my dear Miss Bonbon.  Surely, I’ll be glad to come down—­To help take care of Mr. Shirley—­Of course, I will come in my machine and bring him uptown to a hospital—­That’s what you want?—­Yes, indeed, nothing would give me greater pleasure.”

He rang off, and turned toward Taylor.

“That smooth devil has sniffed some of his own dope as sure as you live, Shine.  We’ll get him.  Call up and have the machine sent around.  You and I will be a committee of two, and we’ll end this tonight.  Bring what you need.”

Warren drank another full glass of brandy, while Taylor gave a quick order over the telephone.  Then the latter snatched up a small black satchel which was standing on a side table.  The assistant came to the window, and Shirley dropped down out of sight, for another moment of suspense.  But the sash was quickly closed and bolted.

The light was turned out, and he waited another five minutes, stiffening in the cold wind which had sprung up to send the big flakes in eddies against his numbed fingers.  With difficulty he fished out a long, thin wire from his pocket, with which he had frequently turned the safety catch of windows on other such occasions.  Again it served its purpose, and he drew himself up to the sash of the opened window.  He brushed off the snow, so as to leave no telltale puddles of drippings.  He went to the door of the library, and then to that of the vestibule.

It was locked from the outside, even as they had done when Helene was the drowsy prisoner.

He had little time, he knew, for his search, but he first thought of the girl’s predicament.  He must cover the tracks there.  He took up the receiver, and in a minute was talking to her.

“I’m in.  Leave word downstairs (and pay the clerk and bell-boy a good bribe) that you have gone to a hospital with a sick friend.  Tell them to swear to that, and better still leave the hotel at once, hunt up Dick Holloway—­you’ll find him at the Thespis Club to-night.  Send in the chauffeur to ask for him and have him stay with you in the machine.  I am going to visit the other place when I finish here.  I’ll be down there, at the Thespis Club, by eleven again.  Good-bye—­use your wits.”