"I have not time!" he groaned.
He fell on the telephone book. Delamare's address was not listed there. Like many a prominent man he did not care to subject his home to the annoyance of calls from cranks and strangers. It is useless to ask Information for such numbers. Jack tried the bank but it was before the opening hour and he could get no answer. Meanwhile the precious moments were slipping.
He snatched up his hat, and ran out of the room careless if all his work was destroyed, so he might save his friend. He had to run half a block before he met a taxicab. That took him swiftly enough to Delamare's house. The inexpressive blind windows told him nothing of what was happening within. It was exactly nine-thirty when he rang the bell. He prayed that Delamare might oversleep to-day.
The door was opened by a middle-aged caretaker, with a somewhat forbidding look, evidently Monahan.
"I must see Mr. Delamare at once!" said Jack breathlessly.
"Not at home. You'll have to go to his office," was the stolid response.
Jack could stand no more. "Good God, man! His life is threatened. I must warn him!"
Monahan was sure then that he had a crank to deal with. He barred the way with his great bulk. "Take yourself off!" he growled. "Or I'll call the police."
Jack almost despaired. "Shut the door and leave me here if you want," he said, "but for God's sake go to your master quickly. Keep him out of the dining-room until you search it. There's a murderer hidden there!"
Monahan's mind moved slowly. He stood staring at Jack full of sullen suspicion.