Zada was alone--at least Cheever was not there. She had been astounded when Dyckman's name came through the telephone. Her first thought had been that Cheever had met with an accident and that Dyckman was bringing the news. She had given up the hope of involving Dyckman with Mrs. Cheever, after wasting Cheever's money on vain detectives. When Dyckman was ushered in she greeted him from her divan. “Pardon my negligee,” she said. “I'm not very well.” He saw at a glance that the dictagraph had told the truth. She was entirely too well. He felt his wrath at Zada vanishing. But this also he transferred to Cheever's account. He spoke as quietly as he could, though his face revealed his excitement. “Sorry to trouble you, but I had hoped to find Mr. Cheever here.” “Mr. Cheever?! Here?!” Zada exclaimed, with that mixture of the interrogation and exclamation points for which we have no symbol. She tried to look surprised at the unimaginable suggestion of Cheever's being in her environs. She succeeded as well as Dyckman did in pretending that his errand was trivial. “Er--yes, I imagined you might happen to know where I could find him. I have a little business with him.” Zada thought to crush him with a condescension--a manicurial sarcasm: “Have you been to the gentleman's home?” Dyckman laughed: “Yes, but he wasn't there. He isn't there much nowadays--they say.” “Oh, do they?” Zada sneered. “Well, did They tell you he would be here?” “No, but I thought--” “Better try his office in the morning.” “Thanks. I can't wait. What club does he affect most now?” “Ask They,” said Zada, ending the interview with a labored yawn. But when Dyckman bowed and turned to go, her curiosity bested her indignation. “In case I should by any chance see him, could I give him your message?” Dyckman laughed a sort of pugilistic laugh, and his self-conscious fist asserted itself. “No, thanks, I'm afraid you couldn't. Good-by.” Zada saw his big fingers gathering--convening, as it were, into a fist like a mace, and she was terrified for her man. She scrambled to her feet and caught Dyckman in the hall. “What are you going to do to Mr. Cheever?” Dyckman answered in the ironic slang, “I'm not going to do a thing to him.” Zada's terror increased. “What harm has he ever done to you?” “I didn't say he had done me any harm.” “Is it because of his wife?” “Leave her out of it.” There was the old phrase again. Cheever kept hurling it at her whenever she referred to the third corner of the triangle. Zada remembered when Cheever had threatened to kill Dyckman if he found him. Now he would be unarmed. He was not so big a man as Dyckman. She could see him being throttled slowly to death, leaving her and her child-to-be unprotected in their shameful folly. “For God's sake, don't!” she implored him. “I'm not well. I mustn't have any excitement, I beg you--for my sake--”