"Apparently his friends haven't entered into his calculations."
"I repeat, it isn't like him, Jack. Somebody has put this idea into his head."
I stopped so abruptly that Ballard regarded me curiously.
"Somebody—who?"
I paced the floor with long strides, my fingers twitching to get that pretty devil by the throat. I knew now—it had come in a flash of light—Marcia. Jerry listened now to no one but Marcia; but I couldn't tell Jack.
"Somebody—somebody at Flynn's," I muttered.
He regarded me curiously.
"But the boy is immune to flattery. There isn't a vain bone in his body. I confess he puzzles me. But I think you'll find he's quite stubborn about it."
"Stubborn, yes, but—"
My remark was cut short by a ring of the bell, immediately answered by Ballard's man, and Jerry entered. He was, I think, attired in one of Jack's "Symphonies," wore a blossom in his buttonhole, swung a stick jauntily, and altogether radiated health and good humor, greeting us both in high spirits.