It did not occur to him that this urge and pull of spiritual forces, this compellant thought of Dorothy, might have any connection with practical things. Men are slow to believe in guardian angels.
CHAPTER III
Late in the afternoon of that same Saturday that saw Armstrong's departure for Indianapolis, the same Saturday that saw Findlater placed completely in the power of Lawrence Macgowan, Jimmy Wren called to see Mrs. Bird Fowler. The call was unheralded and purely on impulse, for Wren was harassed and at his wits' end to serve Armstrong; the latter had not confided in him about Todrank's warning, but Jimmy Wren had guessed the purport from what Armstrong had said. He was worried and nervous.
Wren was sent up to the apartment and was received by the maid, who knew that he was a favored visitor.
"Mrs. Fowler is out, sir," she told him, "but I'm expecting her back at any minute now. I know she'd not want to miss you. If you'd care to wait—"
"Why, thanks, I will," said Jimmy Wren gratefully.
"Would you care for a fire, or tea—"
"No, nothing, until Mrs. Fowler comes," he rejoined, handing over his things. "I'll just sit around and smoke."
"Make yourself at home, sir. If you want anything, I'll be in the kitchen."