There was a litter of mail upon the table--evidently an accumulation of correspondence that had not been forwarded. As Clifford sat down his eyes were caught and sharply arrested by an open letter. He recognized the writing--it was Mary’s; and almost before he knew what he was doing he had read this fragment:-- I have been thinking your suggestion all over--and possibly, _possibly_, if it were repeated-- Mr. Morton, who had followed Clifford’s eyes, reached sharply forward, and snatched up the letter. “Pardon my seeing it--I couldn’t help it,” said Clifford. And then: “I remember you offered to take the writer of that letter on a very private cruise. I suppose she has now consented?” “That’s none of your business!” snapped Mr. Morton, pocketing the letter. So, then, Mary did have some plan under way! “Mr. Clifford,” Mr. Morton said abruptly, then paused. Clifford now perceived that the usually composed and masterful financier was in a state of nerves which he was trying his utmost to control. “Mr. Clifford, some time ago I asked you to help me with my son. I have sent for you to ask you that again.” “Help you!” Clifford wanted a bit of information on a certain point, so he pretended a greater ignorance than was actually his. “Why, I supposed you had taken Jack off, braced him up, and brought about the marriage you once told me was your chief desire for Jack--to Miss Maisie Jones. I supposed Jack and she were on their honeymoon.” “That affair is all off,” the father said briefly. “What! Definitely?” “Her aunt wrote saying that Maisie no longer cared for Jack. I wrote to Maisie, and she confirmed it. She was unchangeable.” So, then, Maisie Jones had fulfilled her promise to Mary. “To repeat,” Mr. Morton went on, “I have sent for you to ask you again to help me with Jack.” “My answer now must be the same as when you asked help of me before: I can’t say until I know the situation. And even then I must reserve the privilege to act as I think best.” “All right. Have it your own way.” “First, tell me what has happened since you took charge of Jack that night at Le Minuit?” “I took him to a mountain hotel in Maine, hoping that away from all his old associates I could manage him more easily. But he kept me awake night and day, and even then he was always eluding me and finding road-houses where the prohibition law didn’t exist. Yesterday he got away altogether. I know he’s somewhere in New York. I want you to help me find him.” “I thought you had Mr. Bradley retained for such service.” “I have, and I’ve already notified him. But I don’t trust Mr. Bradley as far as I once did. That’s why I’m asking you to help. Will you?” Clifford felt the irony of it--that he should once more be called in to save the man Mary Regan had married instead of himself. But he nodded. “That may be easy enough if Jack is in any of the regular joy-joints. But it will be hard if any of the sharps have got him in tow. Come on.”