Radnor had not reckoned on the automobile, but he knew how to operate a Packard car as well as did the chauffeur himself, and he had barely reached the seat under the wheel when the big machine shot forward with rapidly increasing speed. He left the chauffeur, and the two young millionaires gaping after it with unmitigated astonishment and chagrin. Duncan and Gardner, both, realized that the newspaper man had escaped them, and each of them understood only too well that at least one of the city newspapers was now likely to print the hateful story of the supposed marriage, beneath glaring and astonishing headlines, the following morning.
Duncan swore, softly and rapidly, but with emphasis; Jack Gardner, broke into uproarous laughter, which he could not possibly repress or control; the chauffeur started up the avenue on a run, in a fruitless chase after the on-rushing car, which even at that moment whirled around the corner toward Madison avenue, and disappeared. Gardner continued to laugh on, until Duncan seized him by the shoulder, and shook him with some violence.
"Shut up your infernal clatter, Jack!" he exclaimed, momentarily forgetful of his anger at his friend. "Help me to think what can be done to head off that crazy fool, will you? It isn't half-past two o'clock, yet, and he will succeed in catching at least one of the newspapers, before it goes to press; God only knows how many others he will connect with, by telephone. What shall we do?"
"I can get out one of my own cars in ten minutes," began Gardner. But his friend interrupted him:
"Come with me," Duncan exclaimed; and, being almost as familiar with the interior of the house as its owner was, he dashed up the steps through the still open doorway, and ran onward up the stairs toward the smoking-room on the second floor, closely followed by Gardner. There he seized upon the telephone, and asked for the New York Herald, fortunately knowing the number. While he awaited a response to his call he put one hand over the transmitter, and said, rapidly, to his companion:
"Jack, I have just called up the night city editor of the Herald. While I am talking with him, I wish you would make use of the telephone-directory, and write down the numbers of the calls for the other leading newspapers in town. This is the only way possible by which we may succeed in getting ahead of Radnor."
Any person who has ever had to do with newspaper life will understand how futile such an attempt as this one would be to interfere with interesting news, during the last moments before going to press. City editors, and especially night city editors, have no time to devote to complaints, unless those complaints possess news-value. Nothing short of dynamite, can "kill" a "good story," once it has gone to the composing-room. Whatever it was that Duncan said to the gentleman in charge of the desk at the Herald office, and to the gentlemen in charge of other desks, at other newspaper offices, need not be recorded here. Each of the persons, so addressed, probably listened, with apparent interest, to a small part of his statement, and as inevitably interrupted him by inquiring if it were Mr. Duncan in person who was talking; and, when an affirmative answer was given to this inquiry, Roderick was not long in discovering that he had succeeded only in supplying an additional value to the story, and in giving a personal interview over a telephone-wire. He realized, too late, that instead of interfering with whatever intention Burke Radnor might have had in making the escape, he had materially aided this ubiquitous person in his plans. The mere mention by him to each of the city editors that Radnor was the man of whom he was complaining, gave assurance to those gentlemen that some sort of important news was on the way to them, and therefore Duncan succeeded only in accomplishing what Radnor most desired—that is, in holding back the closing of the forms, as long as possible, for Radnor's story, whatever it might prove to be.
Meanwhile, directly beneath the room where Duncan was so frantically telephoning, a scene of quite a different character was taking place.
When Patricia entered the house, she passed rapidly forward to the spacious library, encountering no one. Entering it, she found Sally Gardner seated upon one of the chairs, convulsed with laughter, while directly before her stood Beatrice, her eyes flashing contemptuous anger, and scorn upon the fun-loving and now half-hysterical young matron, who seemed to be unduly amused. Neither of them was at the moment, conscious of Patricia's presence. She had approached so quietly and swiftly that her footsteps along the hallway had made no sound.
"You helped Burke Radnor to escape from us, Sally!" Beatrice was exclaiming, angrily. "I haven't a doubt that you put him up to it. I believe you would be delighted to see that hateful story in the newspapers. It was a despicable thing for you to do."