"I'd like to speak to Mr. Macgowan, please," she said when the response came. And, a moment later, she put her lips to the telephone. "Hello, Lawrence? Is this you?"
"Why, hello! Merry Christmas to you!" came Macgowan's cheerful, incisive tones. "You don't mean that he's back already?"
"Yes. He'll see you first thing in the morning."
"Things are all right, then?"
"Yes, absolutely. There's not a shadow of suspicion anywhere. Henry C. is the supposed nigger in the woodpile. And, Lawrence, he's pitifully easy to work on; I've got him all worked up this minute about Henry C."
"Fine!" Macgowan's chuckle came over the wire. "Fine! You're getting off to-night?"
"Of course."
"Well, leave the rest to me," said Macgowan. "I'll have him in Tampa inside of two days, and the passports will follow as quickly as they can be rushed down there. I'll send you a check to cover all expenses. Work it any way you like, but get him out of the country, understand! A sea voyage to Spain and back will brace you up a lot—and don't go and do anything foolish, old girl."
"You play your game as well as I play mine, and you'll win," said Mrs. Fowler with emphasis.
"I believe you," laughed Macgowan. "Good night, then, and good-by! I'll not come to see you off; he might be hanging around. Good-by!"