The German’s glance lit and lingered upon the bottle of Scotch on the table. “Concentrated, double-distilled friendship,” said he as he poured out his drink.
“But a friend that drives all others away,” smiled Howard.
“I have found it of a very jealous disposition,” replied the German with a careless shrug of the shoulders and a lifting of the eyebrows. “But at least this friend has the grace to stay after it has driven the others away.”
“To stay until the last piece of silver is gone.”
“But what more does one expect of a friend? Besides, we are overlooking one friend—the one who helped our clerical fellow-lodger of the attic out of his troubles to-day.”
“His luck has turned?”
“Permanently. He shot himself this afternoon.”
“And only this morning I made up my mind to try to help him,” said Howard regretfully.
“You could not have hoped to succeed so well. His case needed something more than temporary expedient. But, to come to the point, I had a slight acquaintance with him. He left a note for me—mailed it just before he shot himself. In it he asked that I insert a personal in the Herald. Unfortunately I have not the money. I thought that you as a journalist might be able to suggest something.”
The German held out a slip of cheap writing paper on which was written: “Helen—when you see this it will be over—L.”