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Even as Napoleon believed in his star, Gard trusted in his luck, and it was with a smothered laugh of sardonic satisfaction that news of the first move in his campaign came over the wire. "My man has tipped his hand," came Brencherly's voice. "The other one is more than interested excited. Make your cast and you get a bite on your picture bait."
A red glare from a ruby lamp at a fire-street corner splashed her frail fingers with vivid color as they passed it by. She gave a scream that ended in a moan, and mechanically wiped her hands back and forth, back and forth, upon her coat. Brencherly's heart ached for her.
"Did they find any letter or enclosure that might explain why she was admitted?" "No, sir, nothing." The two men eyed each other in silence. Each felt the other's reticence. "And what do you advise now?" Gard inquired. Brencherly's gaze shifted to the bronze inkwells. "If I knew just how this event affected you, sir, I might be able to advise." It was his employer's turn to look away.
"Long will be taken care of," he snapped, replacing his scarf pin for the twentieth time, and making an unspoken promise to himself to send the secretary so far away from the scene of Brencherly's activities that he would at least have a chance to begin life anew without fear of the past. "May I?" queried Brencherly, with a jerk of his head toward the telephone. "Rather you didn't from here.
I've got every line pulling on the quiet. I've done my best, sir." Brencherly's voice ceased, and Gard drew a sigh of relief. At least there was no bad news, and as yet nothing in public print concerning the tragedy. The discovery had probably been made early that morning by the servant, whose duty it was to care for the master's private apartments.
Dorothy, summoned to the telephone, had nothing to add to Brencherly's information, but seemed to derive comfort and consolation from Gard's assurances that all would be well. She would call him again at noon, she said. He came from the booth almost glad. His step was light, his troubled eyes clear once more. He was ready to play his part in every sense, grateful for the respite from his pain.
On the whole, that seemed the most likely explanation, and one that offered such possibilities that he ground his teeth. He was roused from his reverie by Brencherly's hesitating voice. "I think, Mr. Gard, I'd better go at once. I want to get a trailer after Balling, and if I'm a good guesser, we haven't any time to lose." "You're right; go on.
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