"My God!" exclaimed Underwood. "Why are they hounding me like this?"
Approaching Bennington quickly, he grasped his hand.
"Bennington," he said earnestly, "you and I've always been on the square. Can't you tell them it's all right? Can't you get them to give me time?"
Before the manager could reply the telephone bell rang sharply. Underwood started. An expression of fear came over his face. Perhaps the firm had already sworn out a warrant for his arrest. He picked up the receiver to answer the call.
"What name is that?" he demanded over the telephone. The name was repeated and with a gesture of relief he exclaimed:
"Howard Jeffries!—what on earth does he want? I can't see him. Tell him I'm——"
Bennington took his hat and turned to go:
"Well, I must be off."
"Don't go," exclaimed Underwood, as he hung up the receiver mechanically. "It's only that infernal ass Howard Jeffries!"
"I must," said the manager. As he went toward the door he made a close scrutiny of the walls as if searching for something that was not there. Stopping short, he said: