Carter, dropping surreptitiously out of a taxicab and scurrying across the sidewalk, hurried into the Dillon house. His face wore a troubled frown. He had had bad news. He had been driving around town looking for Speedy. He snatched up the telephone in the living room and snapped a number to the operator.
"Hello, hello—Puggy?" he called. "Any word? Yes? That's bad! How the devil did he find out where it was. No, I didn't see him. He's heading downtown, you say? That's terrible. You boys certainly slipped a cog. Listen, get out there and do something, will you! Get the gang together and stop him. Wreck him. I don't care if you all get arrested. I'll bail you out. If he gets here with that 'bus within the next half hour, we're all sunk! None of us get a nickel, understand? Go on now. Get going! Do something! Send—"
He glanced around quickly as he heard the front door open. Remembering his unfortunate experience when Jane overheard his previous conversation, Carter abruptly slammed up the receiver and scrambled to his feet. He was thus smiling and composed when he greeted Pop Dillon, suitcase in hand, as the latter ambled into the room.
"Why, Mr. Dillon, this is a surprise," said Carter, holding out his hand.
The fact that Pop readily shook hands reassured the shaken Carter. At least Pop was ignorant of what had been going on.
"How are you feeling now, Mr. Dillon?" Carter asked. At the same time he was silently bawling
