under his desk sounded; she drew close as he took up his receiver.
"Manitowoc?" he said. "I want to know what you've heard from the Solwerk. . . . You hear me? . . . The men the Solwerk picked up. You have the names yet?"
". . ."
"The Benton?"
". . ."
"Oh, I understand! All from the Benton. I see! . . . No; never mind their names. How about Number 25? Nothing more heard from them?"
Constance had caught his shoulder while he was speaking and now clung to it. Release—release of strain was going through him; she could feel it, and she heard it in his tones and saw it in his eyes.
"The steamer Number 25 rammed proves to have been the Benton," he told her. "The men are all from her. They had abandoned her in the small boats, and the Solwerk picked them up before the ferry found her."
He was not asking her to congratulate him upon the relief he felt; he had not so far forgotten himself as that. But it was plain to her that he was congratulating himself; it had been fear that he was feeling before—fear, she was beginning to understand, that those on the ferry had been saved. She shrank a little away from him. Benjamin Corvet had not been a friend of Henry's—they had quarreled; Uncle Benny had caused trouble; but nothing which she had understood could explain fear on Henry's part lest Uncle Benny should be found safe. Henry had not welcomed Alan; but now Henry was hoping that Alan was dead.
