“Very well,” he said, taking out his case and handing a card to Crawford. “Let’s hope for your sake that you won’t have any very urgent need of me, but here’s my address, and you can ring me up at any time. I shall be very glad to do anything I can.” Crawford had just placed the card in his pocket when the door of the smoking room opened and James Stone appeared. There was a little bar at one end of the room, and it was toward this that Crawford’s partner was headed. Stone’s eyes traveled across to Crawford, and the latter made a move as though to rise to his feet, but his partner turned his head away quickly and went on his way. There was more than a suggestion of surliness, if not of enmity, in the way he ignored Crawford, and the latter leaned back again with an involuntary sigh. Nick caught his eye. “I can’t make it out,” Crawford said at last, the troubled expression deepening on his face. “I suppose you’ve noted that Stone and I hardly exchange a word.” CHAPTER V. ANOTHER MURDEROUS ATTACK. “I must admit that I have noticed it,” Nick returned, “and it struck me as being rather curious, under the circumstances.” “It beats me,” Crawford declared, glancing down at the bar, where the broad-shouldered figure of his old comrade was standing. “Jimmy and I have been chums for years. We’ve worked together and starved together, and five years ago he saved my life at the risk of his own. He dived into a flooded river, and it was touch and go whether he brought me out or not.” The deep voice shook for a moment. “It’s beyond me,” he continued. “For the last few months he’s been a changed man. I can hardly get a word out of him, and many times I’ve caught him looking at me as though I were his bitterest enemy.” There was no doubting the sincerity of Crawford’s emotions. His tanned face twitched, and his hard, work-worn hands were clasped in a tight grip as they rested on his knees. “Something has gone wrong,” he concluded, “but what it is Heaven only knows. Would you believe me if I told you that he——” The detective waited curiously, but Crawford did not complete the sentence, and a little silence fell between the two. As Stone had tossed off his drink, he passed them once more. When he reached the door, however, he halted for a moment, then, swinging around on his heel, beckoned to Crawford. It was almost a gasp of relief that broke from the latter’s lips as he rose. “Hello!” he murmured. “He wants to speak to me, does he? Excuse me, Mr. Carter.” The eager way in which he hurried toward his partner revealed to the detective how anxious he was to make friends again.