"You're on!" said Quarren, briskly unhooking the telephone.
While they were waiting Ledwith laid a shaking hand on Quarren's sleeve and clung to it. He was trembling like a leaf when they entered the cab, whimpering when they left it in front of a wide brown-stone building composed of several old-time private residences thrown together.
"Stand by me, Quarren," he whispered brokenly—"you won't go away, will you? You wouldn't leave me to face this all—all alone. You've been kind to me. I—I can do it—I can try to do it just at this moment—if you'll stay close to me—if you'll let me keep hold of you——"
"Sure thing!" said Quarren cheerfully. "I'll stay as long as you like. Don't worry about your clothes; I'll send for plenty of linen and things for us both. You're all right, Ledwith—you've got the nerve. I——"
The door opened to his ring; a pleasant-faced nurse in white ushered them in.
"Dr. Lydon will see you in a moment," she said, singling out Ledwith at a glance.
Later that afternoon Quarren telephoned to Dankmere that he would not return for a day or two, and gave careful instructions which Dankmere promised to observe to the letter.
Then he sent a telegram to Strelsa:
"Unavoidably detained in town. Hope to be up next week. Am crazy to see your house and its new owner.
R. S. Q."