Quin standing by the bed waiting for him to get through adding noughts to his opinion of himself, suddenly leaned forward and examined the picture that hung above the table. It was of an imperial old lady in black velvet, with a string of pearls about her throat and a tiara on her towering white pompadour. His glance swept from the photograph to the flushed face with the tragic eyes on the pillow, and he seemed to hear a querulous old voice repeating: "Ranny--I want Ranny. Why don't they send for Ranny?" With two strides he was at the door. "Are you Mrs. Randolph Bartlett?" he asked of the lady who was nervously pacing the hall. "Yes; why?" "Because they sent me after him. It's his mother, you see--she's hurt." "Madam Bartlett? What's happened?" "She fell down the steps and broke her leg." "How terrible! But she mustn't know about him," cried Mrs. Ranny in instant alarm. "It always makes her furious when he breaks over; and yet, she is to blame--she drives him to it." "How do you mean?" asked Quin, plunging into the situation with his usual temerity. "I mean that she has dominated him, soul and body, ever since he was born!" cried Mrs. Ranny passionately. "She has forced him to stay in the business when every detail of it is distasteful to him. His life is a perfect hell there under Mr. Bangs. He ought to have an outdoor life. He loves animals--he ought to be on a ranch." She pulled herself up with an effort. "Forgive me for going into all this before a stranger, but I am almost beside myself. Of course I am sorry for Madam Bartlett, but what can I do? You can see for yourself that my husband is in no condition to go to her." "Can't you say he's sick?" "She wouldn't believe it. She's suspicious of everything I do and say. Do you _have_ to take back an answer?" "I told the old lady I'd find him for her. You see, I'm a--sort of a friend of Miss Eleanor's." Under ordinary circumstances Mrs. Ranny would have been the last to accept this without an explanation; but there were too many other problems pressing for her to worry about this one. "I wonder how it would do," she said, "for you to telephone that we are both out of town for the night, spending the week-end in the country?" "I guess one lie is as good as another," said Quin ruefully. He was getting involved deeper than he liked, but there seemed no other way out. "I'll telephone from the drug-store. Anything else I can do for you?" "You have been so kind, I hate to ask another favor." "Let's have it," said Quin. "Would you by any chance have time to leave a package of papers at Bartlett & Bangs' for me the first thing in the morning? Mr. Bangs has been telephoning me about them all day, and I've been nearly distracted, because my husband had them in his pocket and I did not know where he was." "Wait a minute," said Quin, going back into the bedroom. "Are these the ones?"