"No one knows for sure," was the cautious reply. "He's been operated
upon for appendicitis, but I fancy there are complications. Not much
chance for him, from what I have heard."

The little crowd of men melted away. Jocelyn Thew smiled to himself on
his way out, as he watched four of them climb into a taxicab.

"That establishes Phillips all right as Miss Beverley's protege," he
murmured, as he turned into Fifth Avenue. "And now--"

He stopped short in his reflections. His careful scrutiny of the
heterogeneous crowd gathered together around the bar had revealed to
him no unfamiliar type save the little man who at that moment was
ambling along on the other side of the way. Jocelyn Thew slackened his
pace somewhat and watched him keenly. He was short, he wore a cheap
ready-made suit of some plain material, and a straw hat tilted on the
back of his head. He had round cheeks, he shambled rather than walked,
and his vacuous countenance seemed both good-natured and
unintelligent. To all appearances a more harmless person never
breathed, yet Jocelyn Thew, as he studied him earnestly, felt that
slight tightening of the nerves which came to him almost instinctively
in moments of danger. He changed his purpose and turned down Fifth
Avenue instead of up. The little man, it appeared, had business in the
same direction. Jocelyn Thew walked the length of several blocks in
leisurely fashion and then entered an hotel, studiously avoiding
looking behind him. He made his way into a telephone booth and looked
through the glass door. His follower in a few moments was visible,
making apparently some aimless enquiry across the counter. Jocelyn
Thew turned his back upon him and asked the operator for a number.