“If I can succeed,” was his thrilling thought, “there will be no one stand higher than I! And I _will_ succeed!” He heard the gruff grunting of the car’s signal outside; and he turned to Dallas, catching up his hat. “I must go; the men whom I have engaged will be waiting for me; and then Forrester must not be given too much time.” She pinned on her hat and took her long coat from a chair where it had been thrown. “Good-bye,” said he. “I’m going with you,” she told him, briefly. “Impossible!” he cried. “And why so?” She drew herself up in that proud fashion which he had come to know so well; the head lifted imperiously and the beautiful eyes flashed. “There will be danger, perhaps.” She laughed, scornfully. “Danger! Am I not accustomed to danger? The past week has been crowded with perils that I could not see. This, to-night, will be at least visible.” He looked at her with quick admiration. And at that moment he learned that it was her spirit and not her beauty alone that drew him to her. “You are determined?” he asked, after a short pause. “I am.” “Very well.” Without another word he led her out to the car which stood at the curb. The night had turned overcast, and a damp wind blew from the east. “It will be a bad night upon the river,” commented Kenyon. He assisted her into the huge car. “Foot of Twenty-third Street, East,” he said to the driver. “And make good time.” They spoke hardly a word all the way uptown; when the foot of Twenty-third Street was reached Kenyon noticed another car. “That must be Webster,” he exclaimed. Sure enough, in the tonneau he espied Garry, enveloped in a huge overcoat and holding a cigar between his teeth. “Hello, Kenyon,” cried that young gentleman, removing the cigar and waving his hand. “Here I am, on deck and waiting!” “I knew you would be!” Kenyon’s car drew up beside the other. “Mr. Webster--Miss Gilbert.” The girl inclined her head, but Webster, so great was his astonishment, blundered woefully. “Great Cæsar!” was his mental exclamation. “Kenyon’s coming along, sure enough. And she _is_ a beauty. I never saw such eyes and such a great lot of dark hair.” “Wait here for us,” said Kenyon to his driver. Then to Webster he added: “And you’d better have your fellow wait, also; we may need him.” He helped Dallas out, and the three of them made their way to a pier close by. Webster never asked a question; he knew that something of great importance was expected to occur, or Kenyon would never have summoned him. And then the presence of Dallas Gilbert lent an air of suspense to the thing which he would not have broken for the world. From a dusky spot along the pier a man arose and approached them. “Mr. Kenyon?” he asked. “That’s right. Are you the man I spoke to over the ’phone?” Kenyon was brusque and direct; for in times of emergency the old military habit was difficult to shake off.