Cortlandt's frosty countenance showed signs of unusual agitation as he answered: "You're mad! You threaten to ruin everything. You understand perfectly—there's no use of my explaining. Let me call on him this afternoon. He will instruct his son."
"No! He would procrastinate, as usual. There would be the customary delays and excuses, and meanwhile Anthony would be in jail at Colon. They would have a defence all prepared. Besides, if it's to be a fight we must have all the weapons possible—and this affair may prove a good one. Anyhow, you mustn't ask a favor of him at this time; he must ask, not you."
The telephone rang, and the speaker snatched the receiver from its hook.
"Hello! Colonel Jolson, I'm very glad I caught you. This is Mrs. Cortlandt. Colonel Jolson, young Ramon Alfarez has arrested Kirk Anthony, of whom I spoke to you. They have maltreated him, as usual, and have hidden him for three days. Yes, yes! I discovered it quite by accident while Mr. Cortlandt was down-town. Oh, this is serious, and I'm furious. … That will do no good; I have reasons for preferring to handle it myself. … Thank you for the compliment. We must go to Colon at once, and I thought you might give us a special." There was a slight pause, then: "Good! That will do quite as well. In fifteen minutes. Thank you. Good-bye."
Turning to her husband, she explained, swiftly: "The Colonel's automobile will be waiting at the station in fifteen minutes. Are you ready?"
"I think you are going about this in the wrong way," he said, coldly.
"When will you learn—?" She checked her crisp words at the flush that
leaped to his cheeks. "I beg your pardon, Stephen. Please do as Colonel
Jolson has done and trust me to manage this affair."
He bowed and left her, saying, "I will have a coach waiting at the door."
Fifteen minutes later a gasoline railroad motor-car with two passengers
in addition to its driver and flagman rolled out of the yards at Panama
City and took the main line, running under orders like a special train.
As it clanked over the switches with ever-increasing speed, Mrs.
Cortlandt leaned forward and spoke to the driver.
"We will have a clear track, and you may go as fast as you like."
The next moment the machine was reeling drunkenly around curves and a fifty-mile gale was roaring past.