hurry, please."

The car started forward. It was not far to 88th Street, but the car
would save time--and time was counting now, every minute of it
priceless, if, as the Tocsin had intimated, he was to forestall the game
that was in hand. The Marleton was for Benson's benefit--but the
Marleton, unless he had miscalculated the numbers, was barely more than
a block away from the house he sought.

And then, besides, there was another reason for haste--Colonel Milford
and his wife would probably be at dinner now, and that left the upstairs
part of the house at his disposal, since, apart from the elderly couple,
the household consisted, according to the Tocsin, of only a single maid.
He went over in his mind again the plan the Tocsin had drawn. Yes, she
was quite right, there should be no danger, the whole matter as far as
he was concerned was almost childishly simple and easy--if he were only
in time! He shook his head a little impatiently at that; and, as he saw
that they were approaching his destination, consulted his watch. It was
exactly twenty minutes after seven.

The car rolled up to the curb in front of the fashionable family hotel.
Jimmie Dale alighted.

"I shall not need you any more to-night, Benson," he said.

He walked quietly into the hotel, through the lobby, down a corridor,
and out of the entrance that gave on the cross street--then his pace
quickened. He traversed the block, crossed the road, turned the corner,
and a minute later was approaching the house she had designated. It was
one of a row. His pace slowed to a nonchalant stroll again. It was still