Some one touched John Bruce on the elbow. He turned around. It was one of the attendants. “You are being asked for downstairs, Mr. Bruce,” the man informed him. John Bruce followed the attendant. In the hall below the white-haired negro doorkeeper came toward him. “I done let him in, Mistuh Bruce, suh,” the old darky explained a little anxiously, “'cause he done say, Mistuh Bruce, that it was a case of most particular illness, suh, and----” John Bruce did not wait for more. It was Veniza probably--a turn for the worse. He nodded, and passed hurriedly along the hall to where, near the door, a poorly dressed man, hat in hand and apparently somewhat ill at ease in his luxurious surroundings, stood waiting. “I am Mr. Bruce,” he said quickly. “Some one is critically ill, you say? Is it Mr. Veniza?” “No, sir,” the man answered. “I don't know anything about Mr. Veniza. It's Hawkins.” “Hawkins!” ejaculated John Bruce. “Yes, sir,” said the man. He shuffled his feet. “I--I guess you know, sir.” John Bruce for a moment made no comment. Hawkins! Yes, he knew! Hawkins had even renounced his pledge, hadn't he? Not, perhaps, that that would have made any difference! “Bad?” he asked tersely. “I'm afraid so, sir,” the man replied. “I've seen a good bit of Hawkins off and on in the last two years, sir, because I room in the same house; but I've never seen him like this. He's been out of his head and clawing the air, sir, if you know what I mean. He's over that now, but that weak he had me scared once, sir, that he'd gone.” “What does the doctor say?” John Bruce bit off his words. The man shook his head. “He wouldn't have one, sir. It's you he wants. You'll understand, sir, that he's been alone. I don't know how long ago he started on this spree. It was only by luck that I walked into his room to-night. I was for getting a doctor at once, of course, but he wouldn't have it; he wanted you. At times, sir, he was crying like a baby, only he hadn't the strength of one left. Knowing I could run her, me being a motortruck driver, he told me to take that car he drives and go to the hotel for you, and if you weren't there to try here--which I've done, sir, as you see, and I hope you'll come back with me. I don't know what to do, though I'm for picking up a doctor on the way back whether he wants one or not.” John Bruce turned abruptly, secured his coat and hat, motioned the man to lead the way, and followed the other out of the house and down the steps to the sidewalk. The traveling pawn-shop was at the curb. The man opened the door, and John Bruce stepped inside--and was instantly flung violently down upon a seat. The door closed. The car started forward. And in a sudden glare of light John Bruce stared into the muzzle of a revolver, and, behind the revolver, into a bruised and battered face, which was the face of Doctor Crang. CHAPTER FOURTEEN--THE TWO PENS