“Bradley and Loveman are uninvited, and were not here when I telephoned,” he explained. Then he went on in a quiet, dominating, driving voice. “I didn’t tell you whom you were really to meet, and I didn’t tell Mr. Morton who was coming, for the reason that I felt you might each refuse to see the other. Pardon my subterfuge. But I sent for you, Miss Gilmore, because Mr. Morton wished to talk to you about Jack.” Mr. Morton flushed wrathfully. “I talk to her about Jack! After the letter I’ve had from her!” “You’ll forget that letter!” Clifford said sharply. “You put this affair in my hands--and your chief concern is Jack.” He turned to Mary, and looked at her squarely, meaningly. “_You’ve_ had your dreams--big dreams. I don’t need to remind you what they are. And you’ve worked to have those dreams come true.” He turned back on Morton, and spoke in the same dominating voice. “And _you_, Mr. Morton--I told you a little while ago that there was just one thing that might save Jack. Miss Gilmore here is the only person who has in recent years had any influence on Jack. For a time she had him working and behaving. You recall her offer that night to take Jack back to that Riverside Drive apartment and make a man of him. You turned her offer down--you said you could manage your son--and you’ve seen the result.” He spoke more dominantly, more drivingly. “That was your big chance. No matter what you may think of Miss Gilmore, she is still your big chance, and your only chance.” Clifford paused and waited. Mary, very pale, gazed at him, her lips apart. Morton, his proud, masterful face also pale, stared fixedly at Mary, but said nothing. “Well,” Clifford prompted him sharply, “here’s your last chance. Speak up.” “First of all,” said Mr. Morton, his voice steady with an obviously great effort and his gray eyes now piercing, “I’d like to ask Miss Gilmore a few questions. Miss Gilmore, how did you and Jack--” “One moment!” cut in Peter Loveman, stepping quickly between Mary and Mr. Morton, and seizing the latter’s arm. Clifford had seen a quick fear leap into the little man’s face, and he knew the little lawyer’s impulse was to be first at the explaining and save himself if possible. “I can answer what I know to be your questions,” Loveman said rapidly. “That’s one reason I wanted to hunt you up to-night with Mr. Bradley, because I’ve just learned some things.” “Loveman!” snapped Clifford, swiftly drawing his automatic and aiming it over Mary’s shoulder. The little lawyer turned, and all the color left the face, ruddied by high living. “Loveman, Miss Gilmore and Mr. Morton have the floor!” Loveman, dropping Morton’s arm, stepped from between the two. Mary had not seen what argument had brought about the lawyer’s subsidence; her eyes, which had shifted to Mr. Morton, had remained steadily upon him, waiting. “Mr. Morton, you have the floor,” Clifford prompted him.