"When she was leaving her offices she heard foot-steps on the floor above and looking up saw him through the balustrade walking to the stair head. She at once thought he was coming to see her and not wanting any more conversation with him, stole out and down the hall to the side corridor, where the service stairs are. Her intention was to pick up the elevator on the floor below, but on second thoughts she gave this up and walked the whole way. Finding her gone he would probably take the elevator himself and they might meet in the car or the entrance hall. Of course we know now she was all wrong. It was not to see her he was coming down, it was to make up his mind to die." My actions must have surprised them. For without a word to Mrs. Whitehall I jumped up and left the room—I couldn’t trust myself to speak, I had to be alone. In my own office I shut the door and stood looking with eyes that saw nothing out of the window, over the roofs to where the waters of the bay glittered in the sun. Have you ever felt a relief so great it made you shaky? Probably not—but wait till you’re in the position I was. The room rocked, the distance was a golden blue as I whispered with lips that were stiff and dry: "Thank God! Oh, thank God! Oh, thank God!" I don’t know how long a time passed—maybe an hour, maybe five minutes—when the door opened and George’s head was thrust in: "What are you doing shut in here? Get a move on—we want you. The telephone returns have come." I followed him back. Mrs. Whitehall was not there—the chief and O’Mally had their heads together over a slip of paper. "Here you, Jack," said the old man turning sharply on me. "You’ve got to go out tonight with O’Mally. They’re in Quebec." He handed me the slip of paper. On it was one memorandum. The night before at 12.05 New York, Lenox 1360 had called up Quebec, St. Foy 584. CHAPTER XIX JACK TELLS THE STORY That night Babbitts, O’Mally and I left for Quebec. Before we went the wires that connected us with the Canadian city had been busy. St. Foy 584 had been located, a house on a suburban road, occupied for the last two weeks by an American called Henry Santley. Instructions were carried over the hundreds of intervening miles to surround the house, to apprehend Santley if he tried to get away, and to watch for the lady who would join him that night. Unless something unforeseen and unimaginable should occur we had Barker at last.