He hung up the receiver in a glow of satisfaction.
"And now," he said, "I think I'll get away for the night. I don't care to have any arguments with Rose for a day or two."
Yet, even as he said it, the telephone-bell uttered its staccato summons. He stood uncertainly beside the desk.
"She wouldn't have the nerve to use the wire," he argued. "Perhaps it's O'Malley with more to say."
Again the bell rang, and his curiosity overcame his caution. He took up the receiver.
"Hello!" he said sharply, and then his tone mellowed, for the voice that came to him across the hurrying New York night was the voice of Marian Lennox.
"Is that Mr. Dyker's office?" it asked.
"It is the head of the firm himself," he answered, "and mighty glad to hear from you."
"I am glad you're glad," the voice pursued, "because I want to ask a favor."
"It is as good as performed. What is it?"