“Not yet,” Jay said. “But there will be.” Mr. Marcus sighed. “Then I’m afraid we’re stumped. I wish we knew more about him.” A new avenue of approach occurred to him then, but Jay anticipated the inspiration. “You could find out something about him in Kansas City,” Jay said. “He was a newspaper reporter there once, wasn’t he?” Mr. Marcus could not drop his selling--he had only two days left now before he must move downstate toward St. Louis--and go to Kansas City, but he could pursue his investigation by proxy. Providentially, he had a friend on the staff of the Kansas City _Star_ who might do his leg work for him. “It seems our last hope,” Mr. Marcus said. “I’ll make the call now.” He preferred not to use the house telephone because of its several extensions, and the nearest booth stood in a corner of the neighborhood drugstore. Mr. Marcus went out and made his call, received his Kansas City friend’s promise to do what he could, and returned to Mrs. Ponder’s boarding house. He found a small party in progress, with a beaming Mrs. Ponder and an assorted handful of her boarders gathered round Adrian Hall and Kitty. Lemonade flowed freely and an air of rejoicing prevailed. “Congratulate me, Mr. Marcus,” Kitty cried. “Adrian and I are going to be married.” Mr. Marcus congratulated them both with deepest sincerity. His scalp prickled only once during his well-wishings, when one of Adrian’s--moles?--crept out of its shirt-collar, just below the Adam’s apple this time, and peered at him complacently. “God bless you both,” Mr. Marcus finished, and fled upstairs. But his room, for once, was not sanctuary. For the first time in his life his books failed to sustain him and he felt truly alone and impotent, caught vicariously in exactly the sort of emotional muddle he had avoided so religiously. There was not even Jay Kirby to lean on in his extremity. Jay had heard the news of Kitty’s engagement during Mr. Marcus’ brief absence and had given way under the strain, suffering another of his fits in his own room. Mrs. Ponder’s tapping brought Mr. Marcus out of his funk, if briefly. “Telephone call for you,” she said. “From Kansas City.” Mr. Marcus, knowing that Mrs. Ponder would eavesdrop if he used the upper hallway extension, took the call downstairs. It was his friend of the _Star_. “Got the dirt you wanted right here in the office,” his friend said cheerfully. “A question here, a phone call there, and it’s wrapped up.” He gave his information tersely. “The guy’s a bum, Marcus. He’s been thrown off every paper in town for drinking--even Alcoholics Anonymous finally wrote him off as a lost cause.” Mr. Marcus said nothing. There were no words for what he felt. “Wasn’t ever vicious,” his friend said. “He was just one of those poor fish with a twist, an uncontrollable drinker. Sponged handouts and probably stole a little on his bad days, but never robbed any banks. What’s he doing up there--more of the usual?”