"Right away," she said. "And if he's left his office, shall I try his house or his club?"
"Both, please, Miss Weston. But I have an idea that he will be at his office."
The Judge passed on to his own handsome room overlooking the turmoil of lower Broadway. He had scarcely reached his desk, and was just bending to smell of the two Abel Chatney roses that stood in a vase there, when the soft bell of his telephone tinkled.
"Stein?" asked Hallett's voice through the black receiver that the Judge placed to his ear.
"Yes. This is Mr. Hallett?"
"Yes."
"I was about to telephone you, and I have just been to see our young friend."
"Well—well?"
"It is no use, Mr. Hallett."
Hallett's voice was incredulous: "The fool won't give up?"