"It sails to-night--in half an hour," returned Blake. "It's the 'Vagrant'.... I'm going, too.... I want to be near at hand.... Good God!" he cried, suddenly. It was almost a wail. "To think of Jack Schuyler-- our Jack Schuyler!--like that!" The doctor came in from the hall whence he had rushed. One arm was in the sleeve of his coat. His hat was over his ear. He was vainly trying to put his left glove on his right hand. "Well?" he blurted, "what are you standing there for like a bump on a log? Why don't you get started? What's the matter with you, anyhow? Come on!" He turned, and shouted up the stairs: "Mary! Mary! Ma-a-a-a-ry, I say! I'm going away. Don't know when I'll be back. Ask young Dr. Houghton, across the street, to take care of my patients until I get home. He'll probably kill a lot of 'em; but I can't help that." And still shouting, still fussing with glove and sleeve, he bumbled out the door, and down the steps to the waiting car. [Illustration] CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR. RESCUE. Blake waited on the yacht, in the harbor of Liverpool. It was hard for him to sit idly by at such a time; but he felt that it was best. There was in his soul a great pity, to be sure--a great grief--a great horror-- yet there was there too a great, deep anger, and a wild resentment; for he loved the daughter of Jimmy Blair, you know; and it was not alone that Jack Schuyler was his friend; it was as well that he was her husband, and the father of her child. So he did not trust himself to go, then; for he knew that all that he might do, Dr. DeLancey could do, and more. Dr. DeLancey went, then, alone. In London he found John Schuyler. He did not announce himself; he bullied and stormed and finally persuaded those who stood between him and his quarry, to let him go unannounced. He did not knock. Instead he thrust open the door and entered. Schuyler was standing before the grate with its burden of glowing coals. He looked up. He started, rubbing his eyes as one who sees but doesn't believe that which his gaze tells him to be so. "It's you!" he cried. Dr. DeLancey nodded. "Yes," he said, simply. "Jack, I've come to take you home. The yacht's waiting at Liverpool. Tom's boat, you know. Steam's up. So get your hat." Schuyler raised his hand, protestingly. "But," he began, "I--" The doctor cried, explosively: "Don't you try to argue with me, young man. I've neglected my practice and let everything go to the devil to come over here, and I don't want any of your dashed _buts_ thrown at me. You get your hat and coat and you come with me. D'ye hear me?" "I can't go," said Schuyler. The doctor brought his flat fist down upon the center table.