Avenue, in Montreal. Yes, Montreal. Tell him to get a man out there
inside of an hour, and put a night watch on until I relieve 'em."

Then, breathing heavily, he bent over his desk, wrote a short message
on a form pad and pushed the buzzer-button with his thick finger. He
carefully folded up the piece of paper as he waited.

"Get that off to Carpenter in Montreal right away," he said to the
attendant who answered his call. Then he swung about in his chair,
with a throaty grunt of content. He sat for a moment, staring at the
woman with unseeing eyes. Then he stood up. With his hands thrust
deep in his pockets he slowly moved his head back and forth, as though
assenting to some unuttered question.

"Elsie, you 're all right," he acknowledged with his solemn and
unimaginative impassivity. "You 're all right."

Her quiet gaze, with all its reservations, was a tacit question. He
was still a little puzzled by her surrender. He knew she did not
regard him as the great man that he was, that his public career had
made of him.

"You've helped me out of a hole," he acknowledged as he faced her
interrogating eyes with his one-sided smile. "I 'm mighty glad you 've
done it, Elsie--for your sake as well as mine."

"What hole?" asked the woman, wearily drawing on her gloves. There was
neither open contempt nor indifference on her face. Yet something in
her bearing nettled him. The quietness of her question contrasted
strangely with the gruffness of the Second Deputy's voice as he