"Sure thing!" replied Murray.

"Where's de place?"

"Dat I can't tell you until the day we're ready to pull off de job."

At four o'clock that afternoon Jimmy Torrance collapsed at his desk.
The flu had struck him as suddenly and as unexpectedly as it had
attacked many of its victims. Edith Hudson found him, and immediately
notified Mr. Compton, with the result that half an hour later Jimmy
Torrance was in a small private hospital in Park Avenue.

That night Bince got Murray over the phone. He told him of Jimmy's
sickness.

"He's balled up the whole plan," he complained. "We've either got to
wait until he croaks or is out again before we can go ahead, unless
something else arises to make it necessary to act before. I think I can
hold things off, though, at this end, all right."

For four or five days Jimmy was a pretty sick man. He was allowed to
see no one, but even if Jimmy had been in condition to give the matter
any thought he would not have expected to see any one, for who was there
to visit him in the hospital, who was there who knew of his illness, to
care whether he was sick or well, alive or dead? It was on the fifth day
that Jimmy commenced to take notice of anything. At Compton's orders he
had been placed in a private room and given a special nurse, and to-day
for the first time he learned of Mr. Compton's kindness and the fact
that the nurse was instructed to call Jimmy's employer twice a day and
report the patient's condition.