“Why, of course I hurried; you said you had something of such importance to tell me.”
“Fairbain,” spoke Keith, his lips almost at the ear of the other. “That was Hope, all right, and she has got him going already. Now, man, will you help us out?”
“I? How?”
“Go back there, and meet Miss Maclaire. I don't care where you take her—lunch, anywhere; only keep her from the hotel as long as possible. You can do it far better than I, for she will not suspect you of any interest in this affair. Tell her any lie you can think up on account of Hawley's absence. Good Lord, old man, can't you see this is your chance; go in and win.”
Fairbain struggled to his feet, still a bit dazed and uncertain, yet tempted by the opportunity.
“You're perfectly sure, Keith, this isn't anything that will hurt the girl?”
“Sure! Of course I am. It's just Hawley I'm gunning after. For God's sake, haven't you got that clear yet?”
“I—I reckon I'm an old fool, Jack,” admitted the Doctor regretfully, “and when an old fool is in love he hasn't got any sense left. Anyhow I'll do what you want me to now. Where are you going?”
“To watch those others. There is no knowing what play Hawley might try to pull off, and I want to keep within gun-shot of him. Hurry up, man; that vestibule door creaked just then.”
He shoved him down the dark alley, and dodged back himself across the front of the tent out into the street. There was a crowd of men in front of the Trocadero, but the couple he sought were nowhere in sight.