“Exactly what I said. This will be a lesson Steve should never forget. I can’t imagine his 273 repeating it—ever. Besides, I’ll help him not to. I have a plan.”
“You mean to help him as—as you helped Harry Randall and Margery?”
A moment the man was silent, though he smiled.
“No, not exactly. I’ll merely assist him to help himself. I think perhaps it’s only my duty anyway, that maybe I’m more or less responsible. By the way, don’t be surprised if he disappears for a bit. He may possibly decide to go out of town. That’s all, for now.”
The girl drew a long breath.
“You responsible!” she echoed. “If you’re responsible, how, then, about—myself?”
“Elice!” Roberts cut her off peremptorily. “I refuse to listen. Go to bed at once, I insist. I’ll come to-morrow and talk if you wish. Just now it’s all too near. Good-night again.”
An instant later, on the darkened porch without, he had the arm of the doddering old man in the grip of a vise.
“Leave everything here to me,” he said swiftly, “and see to Elice.” He was leading the other toward the entrance. “Listen. See that she goes to bed—at once; and you too. I’ll attend to everything else. Trust me,” and 274 very gently he himself closed the door behind the other two.
It was after office hours of the day following when Stephen Armstrong, a bit pale but carefully groomed this time, entered the outer room of Darley Roberts’ office and, with decided reluctance, approached the private apartment beyond. The door was open. Seated before the big desk, shirt-sleeved as usual, Roberts sat working. As the newcomer approached he wheeled about.