Merkle found his chauffeur just closing the garage door, and three minutes later his car was sweeping westward through the Park like the shadow of some flying bird. The vagueness, the brevity of the message that had come to him out of the night made it terribly alarming. Hammon of all men! And at this time! Merkle's mind leaped to the consequences of the catastrophe, if catastrophe it proved. He remembered the issues raised by the sudden death of another associate--also a man of standing and the head of a great industrial combination--and the avalanche of misfortune that it had started. In that case death had been attributed to apoplexy, but when the truth leaked out it had created a terrible scandal. Fortunately, that man's business affairs had been well ordered, and, although his family had been ruined, his institutions had managed to survive the blow. But Jarvis Hammon's financial interests were in no condition to withstand a shock; for a long time many of them had been under fire. He had committed his associates to a program of commercial expansion, never too secure even under favorable conditions, and one, moreover, which had provoked a tremendous assault from rival steel manufacturers. Now, with Hammon himself stricken at the crisis of the struggle, there was no telling what results might follow. But Merkle's apprehensions were by no means as purely selfish as his immediate train of thought might imply; nor were they by any means confined to the probable cost in dollars and cents of his associate's death. Hammon and he had been friends for many years; they shared a mutual respect and affection, and, although Merkle was eminently practical and unemotional, he prayed now as best he could that this alarm might be false, and that Hammon might not be grievously injured. Meanwhile he wedged himself into the cushions of the reeling car and urged his driver to more speed. As the machine drew up to the Elegancia, Jimmy Knight leaped to the running-board and said hurriedly: "Send your driver away." Merkle did as he was directed, realizing his worst fears. When he and Jim stood alone on the walk he inquired weakly, "Is he--dead?" Jim shook his head, and Merkle saw that he was deeply agitated. "No. But he's got a bullet in his chest." "Did she--did that woman--?" Merkle laid a bony hand upon Jim's arm, and his fingers clutched like claws. "I--don't know. He says he did it himself, and she won't talk. He declares it's only a scratch, and won't let us telephone for a doctor or for an ambulance. He's afraid of the police and--he's waiting for you." Merkle hurried toward the entrance, but Jim halted him, and by the light from within it was plain that the latter was fairly palsied with fright. "For God's sake be careful! D-don't let the hall-man suspect. Lorelei was with 'em when it happened, and if it's--murder she'll be in it. Understand? She says she didn't see it, but she was there."