"Before twelve o'clock? How do you know that?"
"I stood at that door while Anton was on the phone talking to a man named Henderson."
"Mr. Baxter's enemy!"
"That's what. Anton's a crook in Henderson's pay. He got this cablegram and held it back. If you don't believe me"—swiftly she drew the paper from her dress—"there!"
"Heavens! When did this come?"
Hester studied the yellow form. "Must have left New York at ten o'clock last night. See? Must have got here before anybody was up—except Anton."
"The scoundrel!" Betty hurried to her desk and rapidly deciphered the message. "This is terrible! There isn't a moment to lose. If something isn't done before twelve o'clock, Mr. Baxter will be ruined. I must think. Come to my room."
A moment later the two women disappeared into Betty's chamber, and, scarcely had the door closed softly after them, when Grimes entered. He had a round, red face, a stubbly, reddish mustache, and small, peering eyes. He wore a checked suit and was smoking a large black cigar. Altogether he looked the typical American detective familiar in farce; but Grimes was not a farcical person; on the contrary, he was one of the most formidable men connected with Scotland Yard, a silent man, and it was considered bad business for the criminal who had Grimes on his track.
The detective glanced carelessly about the big room, moved here and there, picked up the red-covered code book that Betty had left on her desk and was frowning at its mysteries when Betty herself appeared on the landing above the winding stair.
"I beg your pardon," she said with challenging directness. "May I ask what you are doing there?"