Peter jingled his keys. "Of course, we don't want to take chances, but—"
"Another thing," said Varney. "She promised to lunch with Stanhope—the celebrity—not me, you know."
"H'm," said Peter cogitatively, and added: "I guess you're right. I'm sure everything's all serene, but it'll do no harm to press a call. Well! I must fly upstairs for a while and see how things are going."
"What about the Daily?"
"That's what I've got to do right now—settle the Daily and dictate a strong Gazette story for to-morrow's issue, stripping the socks off the Stanhope lie and all that. I've got to show the boys upstairs exactly how we want the whole thing, handled."
"Fire away, old top."
"It's all sketched out in my mind," continued Peter, rising. "Did it at the hotel over my chuck-steak. I won't be long. You wait here for me, will you? I've chartered an automobile for a week and I'll run you up to the Carstairs house and wait outside till you're ready to go back to the yacht."
"Why these civilities, my son?"
"The fact is," said Peter, a little reluctantly, "that story this morning seems to have pulled open a lot of old sores, just as it was meant to. Hare's picked up some loose odds and ends of talk about town to-day. I noticed two men hanging around here as we came in just now who didn't look right to me. I can't get it out of my head that there's something in the wind to-night, and Higginson's back of it. Anyway, there's no use of running needless risks, now that we've practically got a strangle-hold on the whole proposition."
Varney glanced at his watch. "Right for you. It's too early to call yet, anyway. I'll wait."