"Hello! That you, Doctor Simons?--Seen O'Farrell?--Yes; you ought to get in touch with him right away--Three more cases going over to you.--Oh, they're there, are they? You're isolating them, aren't you?--Pest-house? That's all right.--All bills will be paid--liberally. You understand?--What are you calling it? Diphtheria?--Good enough for the present.--Ever see infectious meningitis? I thought it might be that, maybe--No? What do you think, then?--_What_! Good God, man! It can't be! Such a thing has never been heard of in this part of the country--What?--Yes: you're right. We can't talk over the 'phone. Come over to-morrow. Good-bye." Putting up the receiver, Dr. Surtaine turned to his desk and sat immersed in thought. Presently he shook his head. He scratched a few notes on a pad, tore off the sheet and thrust it into the small safe at his elbow. Proof of a half-page Certina display beckoned him in buoyant, promissory type to his favorite task. He glanced at the safe. Once again he shook his head, this time more decisively, took the scribbled paper out and tore it into shreds. Turning to the proof he bent over it, striking out a word here, amending there, jotting in a printer's direction on the margin; losing himself in the major interest. The "special investigator" of the "Clarion" was committing the unpardonable sin of journalism. He was throwing his paper down. CHAPTER XV JUGGERNAUT Misfortunes never come singly--to the reckless. The first mischance breeds the second, apparently by ill luck, but in reality through the influence of irritant nerves. Thus descended Nemesis upon Miss Kathleen Pierce. Not that Miss Pierce was of a misgiving temperament: she had too calm and superb a conviction of her own incontrovertible privilege in every department of life for that. But Esme Elliot had given her a hint of her narrow escape from the "Clarion," and she was angry. To the Pierce type of disposition, anger is a spur. Kathleen's large green car increased its accustomed twenty-miles-an-hour pace, from which the police of the business section thoughtfully averted their faces, to something nearer twenty-five. Three days after the wreck of the apple cart, she got results. Harrington Surtaine was crossing diagonally to the "Clarion" office when the moan of a siren warned him for his life, and he jumped back from the Pierce juggernaut. As it swept by he saw Kathleen at the wheel. Beside her sat her twelve-year-old brother. A miscellaneous array of small luggage was heaped behind them. "Never mind the speed laws," murmured Hal softly. "_Sauve qui peut_. There, by Heavens, she's done it!"