"I think I’ll get an extra room for Mr. Trent. He ought to go to bed." Edward Henry enthusiastically concurred. "And stay there!" said Edward Henry. Pale Carlo Trent permitted himself to be put to bed. But, therein, he proved fractious. He was anxious about his linen. Mr. Sachs telephoned from the bedside, and a laundry maid came. He was anxious about his best lounge suit. Mr. Sachs telephoned, and a valet came. Then he wanted a siphon of soda water, and Mr. Sachs telephoned, and a waiter came. Then it was a newspaper he required. Mr. Sachs telephoned and a page came. All these functionaries, together with two reporters, peopled Mr. Trent’s bedroom more or less simultaneously. It was Edward Henry’s bright notion to add to them a doctor--a doctor whom Mr. Sachs knew, a doctor who would perceive at once that bed was the only proper place for Carlo Trent. "Now," said Edward Henry, when he and Mr. Sachs were participating in a private lunch amid the splendours and the grim silent service of the latter’s suite at the Stuyvesant, "I have fully grasped the fact that I am in New York. It is one o’clock and after, and as soon as ever this meal is over, I have just _got_ to find Isabel Joy. You must understand that on this trip New York for me is merely a town where Isabel Joy happens to be." "Well," replied Mr. Sachs. "I reckon I can put you on to that. _She’s going to be photographed at two o’clock by Rentoul Smiles_. I happen to know because Rent’s a particular friend of mine." "A photographer, you say?" Mr. Sachs controlled himself. "Do you mean to say you’ve not heard of Rentoul Smiles? ... Well, he’s called ’Man’s photographer.’ He has never photographed a woman! Won’t! At least, wouldn’t! But he’s going to photograph Isabel! So you may guess that he considers Isabel some woman, eh?" "And how will that help me?" inquired Edward Henry. "Why! I’ll take you up to Rent’s," Mr. Sachs comforted him. "It’s close by--corner of Thirty-ninth and Fifth." "Tell me," Edward Henry demanded, with immense relief. "She hasn’t got herself arrested yet, has she?" "No. And she won’t." "Why not?" "The police have been put wise," said Mr. Sachs. "Put wise?" "Yes. _Put wise!_" "I see," said Edward Henry. But he did not see. He only half saw. "As a matter of fact," said Mr. Sachs, "Isabel can’t get away with the goods unless she fixes the police to lock her up for a few hours. And she’ll not succeed in that. Her hundred days are up in London next Sunday. So there’ll be no time for her to be arrested and bailed out either at Liverpool or Fishguard. And that’s her only chance. I’ve seen Isabel, and if you ask me my opinion she’s down and out." "Never mind!" said Edward Henry with glee. "I guess what you are after her for," said Mr. Seven Sachs, with an air of deep knowledge. "The deuce you do!" "Yes, sir! And let me tell you that dozens of ’em have been after her already. But she wouldn’t! Nothing would tempt her."