“What's up?” demanded Prince.
“I've just bad some damnably disturbing news. It's pretty bad, but I think I've got word to the right people in time to head off—trouble. I was just going to bed when I was called up on the 'phone. By God, he's cool-headed, I'll say that for him. Said he was you, and wanted to know why the devil I hadn't showed up over here. I was wise in a second. We met in the most casual manner at the corner. He will go a long way, that chap will, mark my words. He's as keen as a fox and as resolute as the devil. I can't explain here, Prince. We must get back to your party. My alibi lies there, you know, if I should happen to need it. You understand, don't you?”
“Certainly. I knew something was in the wind. Is it serious? Tell me that.”
“It can be serious,—desperately serious. But we can't do anything now. At one o'clock I shall ask you to excuse me, Prince. Engagement very early in the morning. Much-needed rest,—and so on. And, by the way, we were unable to locate Folwell. He—”
“Stillwell, wasn't it?”
“So it was. 'Grad, my nerves must be shot up worse than I thought. At any rate, he had vanished.”
“Have you managed to get in touch with any one else?”
“I've sent word to—Jehovah!” Zimmerlein permitted himself what was meant to be a smile, but was instead an ugly grin.
“About the only name that's safe to utter in these days,” said Prince, looking over his shoulder.
“You've done your bit tonight, my friend, by simply being who and what and where you are. Nothing more is required of you.”