“It _can_ be serious,--desperately serious. But we can't do anything now. At one o'clock I shall ask you to excuse me, Prince. Engagement very early in the morning. Much-needed rest,--and so on. And, by the way, we were unable to locate Folwell. He--” “Stillwell, wasn't it?” “So it was. 'Grad, my nerves must be shot up worse than I thought. At any rate, he had vanished.” “Have you managed to get in touch with any one else?” “I've sent word to--Jehovah!” Zimmerlein permitted himself what was meant to be a smile, but was instead an ugly grin. “About the only name that's safe to utter in these days,” said Prince, looking over his shoulder. “You've done your bit tonight, my friend, by simply being who and what and where you are. Nothing more is required of you.” “I'm not asking questions,” said Prince, scowling. “You have asked _one_,” snapped Zimmerlein. “Oh, Lord! Haven't I a right to--” “There is nothing more to be said on the subject,” said the other, fixing the big man with a look that caused him to quail. “You know as well as I just what our law is, Prince. I am not above it,--nor are you. Now, let us return.” Shortly after one o'clock, Zimmerlein said good night to the host and the guests upon whom he had deliberately imposed himself, and went forth into the night. A short distance down the street, he was hailed by a lone taxi-driver, who called out in the laconic, perfunctory manner of his kind: “Taxi?” Zimmerlein walked on a few paces, and then, apparently reconsidering, turned back. “Take me to the Pennsylvania,” he said, and got into the cab. When he took his seat, it was between two men who slunk down in the corners and kept their faces and bodies well out of sight from the occupants of passing cars and pedestrians on the sidewalk. An unusual amount of clatter attended the getting under way of the car. The exhaust roared, the gears grated and snarled, and the loose links of tire-chains banged resoundingly against the mud-guards. A quarter of an hour elapsed. Zimmerlein did most of the talking. Then, as the taxi drew up in front of the little hotel in the cross-town street, he got down and handed the driver a bank-note. His last words, before leaving the car, were: “Remember, now. There must be no mistake, no slip-up. Be dead sure before you do a thing. He is to disappear,--that's all. There must be no trace,--absolutely no trace.” As he sauntered into the hotel, the taxi rattled swiftly off in the direction of Broadway, its remaining occupants silent and white-faced, but with lips and jaws rigidly set. “No complaint after all, Rogers,” said he to the night clerk, rather jauntily. “My friend confessed that he hadn't called me up at all. It was his nice little way of stringing me. Assuage the poor girl's grief if you know how, Rogers. Tell her it's all right, and she can sleep soundly at the switch. Also, be good enough to say to her that I apologize for myself and for my friend.”