"It's Deacon," declared Judge, in a low whisper. "Something has happened. I told him to get up here right away. He couldn't talk over the telephone."
Bronlon nodded. He rang a bell, and servant appeared.
"Did Mr. Best call me today?" he asked.
"No, sir."
"I told him to come back," declared Bronlon. "Perhaps he will call this evening. If he arrives, show him in here."
The two men sat staring at each other in silence. Bronlon was glowering; Judge was serious. They talked tensely in a low undertone. At last, Judge shrugged his shoulders.
"No use worrying until Deacon gets here," he said.
Bronlon uttered a grunt of agreement.
Fifteen minutes later, Mr. Best was announced. Deacon was ushered in. He stood solemnly until the servant had gone. Then, when Bronlon closed the door, he slipped into a chair, his usually quiet face betraying excitement.
"We're up against it, Judge!" he said. "Everything went wrong last night. That fellow you thought you killed must have come to life. He got away — and we're three men short!"