An hour passed. From the swivel chair at his desk Mr. Wynne had
twice seen Sutton stroll past on the opposite side of the street;
and then Claflin had lounged along. Suddenly he arose and went to
the window, throwing back the curtains. Sutton was leaning against
an electric-light pole, half a block away; Claflin was half a block
off in the other direction, in casual conversation with a policeman.
Mr. Wynne looked them over thoughtfully. Curiously enough he was
wondering just how he would fare in a physical contest with either,
or both.

He turned away from the window at last and glanced at his watch
impatiently. One hour and forty minutes! In another half an hour
the little bell over his desk should ring. That would mean that a
pigeon had arrived from--from out there, and that the automatic door
had closed upon it as it entered the cote. But if it didn't come--
if it didn't come! Then what? There was only one conclusion to be
drawn, and he shuddered a little when he thought of it. There could
only remain this single possibility when he considered the sinister
things that had happened--the failure of the girl to get an answer
by telephone, and the unexpected appearance of Red Haney with the
uncut diamonds. It might be necessary for him to go out there, and
how could he do it? How, without leaving an open trail behind him?
How, without inviting defeat in the fight he was making?

His meditations were interrupted by the appearance of Miss Kellner.
She had crept down the stairs noiselessly, and stood beside him
before he was aware of her presence. Her eyes sought his countenance
questioningly, and the deadly pallor of her face frightened him. She
crept into his arms and nestled there silently with dry, staring