"Dot!" he exclaimed impulsively. "Tell me where I can reach Reese! I called up his office when I reached New York this morning, but couldn't get any information except that he was not there and wouldn't be there to-day. I came on here, sure of catching him--and now he's gone! I must get in touch with him immediately." Her eyes widened on his. "Why, Pete, you'll have to go to Wilmington! He's there, at the annual meeting of Consolidated. There's a big fight going on--" "Yes, yes, I know--but good heavens, Dot! I have to catch an afternoon train for Indianapolis, sure!" Slosson stared at her, anxiety and dismayed hesitation evident in his features. He was better looking than of old; cleaner about the eyes, firmer of mouth. Dorothy thought that he must have been not only prospering, but behaving himself. He refused to sit down, but resumed his nervous pacing back and forth. "This is terrible, Dot!" he burst out. "I've risked everything to come here--and now Reese is gone! If I could only get ten minutes with him--" "Tell me, instead." Dorothy realized that something of serious import must be in the air; his agitated manner conveyed the fact. "Is it business? Reese and I have no secrets, Pete. If you like, why not telephone? I think we can reach him." "No, no, it's impossible! I daren't telephone--or tell you either--" He stopped short and stared at her, biting his lip. In his air was an alarmed hesitation, as though her suggestion had startled and frightened him. "I'll say frankly, Dot, that it's for your sake I've come here to warn Reese. I'm risking everything in doing it--" "For my sake?" "Yes." He faced her squarely, on his lips a slight smile tinged with bitterness. "Your happiness has always meant a good deal to me, Dot. It's for your sake that I came here--I'm not ashamed to admit it. But I can't deliver this warning to you. There are things--oh, well, it's out of the question." "Reese and I have no secrets from each other," repeated Dorothy quietly. Slosson regarded her, smiling once more. That smile was a triumph of irony, of subtle suggestion, of tacit implication. "My dear Dot, I simply can't tell you what's going on! I--hang it, I'd say too much. Let me think. If there were only some way--" He turned his back to her and stared out of the window. Dorothy was conscious of alarm stirring within her. She had always suspected Pete Slosson of being a poseur, a very clever actor where women were concerned. At this moment, she forgot everything except the implied suggestion of his words. The desperate earnestness of his manner was convincing. "You might leave a note," she began. Slosson swung around on her with a quick, hard laugh. "And implicate myself? Not much. I'm in it deep enough already. I never dreamed until too late how that infernal Ried Williams must be working for Macgowan--" He broke off, shrugged, checked himself.