"We're not going to leave you," Merkle said, positively.

"No!" echoed Bob. "I'll wake up Orson while John telephones the
doctor."

But Hammon forbade Bob's movement with a frown. It was plain that
despite his weakness his mind remained clear. "Listen to me," he
ordered. "Prop me up--put me in that chair. I'm choking." They did
as he directed. "That's better. Now, you mustn't be seen here--
either of you. We can't explain." He checked Merkle. "I know best.
Go home; it's only two blocks--I'll telephone."

"You'll ring for Orson quick?"

Hammon nodded.

"Rotten way to leave a man," Bob mumbled. "I'd rather stick it out
and face the music."

"Go, go! You're wasting time." Hammon's brow was wrinkled with
pain and anger. "You've been good; now hurry."

Merkle's thin face was marked with deep feeling.

"Yes," he agreed. "There's nothing else for us to do; but tell
Orson to 'phone me quick. I'll be back here in five minutes." Then
he and Bob stole out of the house as quietly as they had stolen
in.

They got into the cab and drove away without exciting suspicion.