"You go to bed, too!" he insisted huskily. "I'll call you the minute we hear anything. But if you don't get some sleep you won't be much help to-morrow. I'll just stay here beside the telephone. We may hear something. We must hear something!" he insisted, because he so desperately wished to hear something. "But I shan't let you stay up any longer. You're all tired out!"
She hesitated as if she were going to insist on staying with him, and then she said good night softly and went away. Joe's eyes followed her until she was out of sight. What a splendid girl she was, he thought, as he tramped up and down the room before he threw himself into a chair beside the telephone. He had always known she was splendid. And what a good friend she was to Tessie! How different they were! Norah was the kind of a girl a man would have to reach up to. He would always have to be right on his toes, for she would be a little ahead—always. While Tessie—a man would have to put back his hand and pull Tessie up to him. Tessie was all sweetness and tenderness. She made a man contented and happy while Norah—Norah—
Joe's heart gave a sudden leap which almost choked him. He jumped to his feet and looked about him bewildered. "Gosh!" he exclaimed, puzzled at this emotion which had gripped him so suddenly. He tramped up and down the room again. "Norah!" The name made him tingle. "Norah!" He dropped weakly into a chair and put his hand to his forehead. What on earth was the matter with him? Why should he feel smothered and limp and exhilarated when he thought of Norah Lee? He did not understand why, but he discovered that when he thought of Norah, he forgot Tessie. But he must not forget Tessie—Tessie was lost. It must be because he was so tired. Lord, how tired he was! He slouched down in his chair and relaxed his tired muscles. Tessie—Norah— The lids dropped over his weary eyes, and he began to dream—strange, sweet, new dreams.
Downstairs, Mr. Bill had settled himself in a chair beside the telephone switchboard and lighted a cigarette.
"Give me any message about Queen Teresa," he told the telephone girl.
"Ain't it awful about her?" she shuddered. "I used to wish I could change places with her, when I'd see her go in and out with that black fellow with his ax, but now— Say, where do you suppose she is?"
"I wish you would tell me," Mr. Bill said wearily. "Don't forget to give me any message that comes in. Everybody upstairs is asleep, and I don't want them disturbed."
"The old lady ought to get a good night's rest," agreed the telephone girl. "You just shut your own eyes, and I'll call you the first thing."
Mr. Bill could close his eyes, but he could not sleep. He smoked cigarette after cigarette, and listened unconsciously to the uninterrupted chatter of the girl who had envied Tessie until Tessie had been kidnaped. When the telephone operator went off duty, and the switchboard was turned over to the night clerk, Mr. Bill went over to police headquarters, where there was no news at all.
"We have all our men out, Mr. Kingley," the sergeant told him. "Even the chief's working on the case. We're trying to round up that Pracht—Smith, he called himself, didn't he?—and make him confess. But we don't know anything about those Sons of Sunshine. They sound like anarchists or Black Hands to me. But we oughta hear something pretty soon."