"You will meet her—soon."
"Yes, yes—go on!"—he whispered hoarsely, but he waited in vain. The spirit of his dead love had gone back to its resting place among the stars.
Drury Villard accepted the theory that when a man is forty he is in the prime of life, and after that his physical powers wane. Nevertheless there were those who, by obedience to nature's laws, remained young at sixty. He knew that every five years a normal brain and a normal body become attuned to the next five-year period, and upon this theory Villard, now emerging into his forty-seventh year, had planned his activities. By virtue of his early training he had worked hard in working hours, and played hard during the daylight overlapping. Thus was served his grand physique and his growing brain, each getting its share of natural restoration.
During his first years in business his effort had been prodigious. Just out of college he had plunged into a new enterprise, the child of his own brain. Unique, and head and shoulders above those whom he drew about him—from a mental and physical standpoint—his leadership never was questioned. Each new acquisition to his organization was picked by virtue of his seemingly unerring knowledge of men. As he brought in a new recruit, that person had only to make good in order to become a "special partner." Under the contract with each man his continuance with the company hinged upon the will of Villard, and by common consent his fiat was law.
Of all the men chosen, Parkins, the brightest of the lot, had been the one man to flunk. Now, secretly, Villard was on his way to New York for the one purpose of bringing him back to the fold. Driving directly to the apartment in Park Avenue, where Parkins maintained his living quarters, he was informed that the gentleman had gone away. The superintendent was not quite sure that he had a right to give out information concerning his tenants. When asked as to when Mr. Parkins would probably return he declined to give an opinion.
"But where did he go?" demanded Villard.
"I do not know. He left no address," was the reply.
"Then tell me what you do know. When did he leave? Did he move his effects?"
"He left soon after he returned here in the early morning. His furnishings are all here—and he left a check for next month's rent. That's all I know."