"If she reads it, Jones will. The man with the opera glasses may see something. There's a chance Jones might become worried."
"Well, we'll give it a chance."
It was midnight when he made his departure. As he stepped into the street, he glanced about cautiously. On the corner he saw a policeman swinging his night stick. Otherwise the street was deserted. Braine proceeded jauntily down the street.
And yet, from the darkened doors of the house across the way, the figure of a man emerged and stood contemplating the windows of the Perigoff apartment. Suddenly the lights went out. The watcher made no effort to follow Braine. The knowledge he was after did not necessitate any such procedure.
Of course, Florence read the "personal." She took the newspaper at once to Jones, who smiled grimly.
"You see, I trust you."
"And so long as you continue to trust me no harm will befall you. You were left in my care by your father. I am to guard you at the expense of my life. Last night's affair was a miracle. The next time you will not find it so easy to escape."
Nor did she.
"There will be no next time," gravely. "But I am going to ask you a direct question. Is my father alive?"
The butler's brow puckered. "I have promised to say nothing, one way or the other."