Burke shook his head.
“How is Shelby Maddox?”
“Much better. I was in the room during the flurry. You should have seen him when the turn came. We could hardly keep him in bed. He was frantic.”
Kennedy had continued studying the anonymous note very carefully as we talked.
“It squares with my theory,” he mused, more to himself than to us. “Yes—it is time to act. And we must act quickly. Burke, can you get all the Maddoxes up to Shelby’s room—right away? Perhaps by that time we may have word from Riley. At any rate, we shall be ready.”
Shelby was propped up in bed with pillows, quite reconciled now to being an invalid, when we entered.
“The best little nurse ever,” he greeted us, scarcely taking his eyes from Winifred. “And a financier, too,” he added, with a laugh; “a power in the market.”
“You mustn’t forget Professor Kennedy’s machine,” put in Winifred, welcoming us with a smile that covered the trace of a blush which glowed through the pretty tan of her cheeks.
Shelby grasped Craig’s hand. “You said you wouldn’t work for me,” he grinned, “but you certainly didn’t work against me. Just let me get on my feet again. You won’t regret, old man, that you—”
A knock on the door cut him short. It was Frances and Johnson Walcott.