"What does that mean?" "That they would not create imaginary heartaches if they were not young. Better let things remain exactly as they are. When all these troubles are settled finally, the lesser trouble may be talked over sensibly. But this is not the time. There is no news. Good night." Norton returned to his chair, gloomier than ever. With his feet upon the window sill he stared and stared and dreamed and dreamed till a hand fell upon his shoulder. It belonged to one of the office boys. "Note f'r you, sir." Norton read it and tore it into little pieces. Then he rose and distributed the pieces in the several yawning waste baskets which strewed the aisle leading to the city desk. "I'm not wanted for anything?" he asked. "No. Clear out!" laughed the night city editor. "The sight of you is putting everybody in the gloom ward." Norton went down to the street. At the left of the entrance he was quietly joined by a man whose arm was carried in a sling. He motioned Norton to get into the taxicab. They were dropped in a deserted spot in Riverdale. On foot they went forward to their destination, which proved to be the deserted hangar of the aviator, William Orts. "I want you to tell Jones that a tub and several divers are at work on the spot where he threw the chest. That's all. Now, doctor, rewind this arm of mine." The amateur surgeon made a very good job of it; not for nothing had he followed fighting armies to the front. "Did they find anything?" "Not up to date. But we might if we cared to. They have left a buoy over the spot they're exploring. But just now it floats a quarter of a mile to the east of the spot." "Who were the men in the motor boat that chased Jones?" "Only Jones can tell you. Queer old codger, eh?" "A bit stubborn. He wants to handle it without police assistance." "And he's right. We are not aiming to arrest any one," sinisterly. "There can't be any draw to this game. Here, no smoking. Too much gas afloat." Norton put the cigarettes back into his pocket. "What's the real news?" he demanded. "You would not bring me out here just to rebandage that arm. It really did not need it. Come, out with it." "You're sharp." "I'm paid to be sharp." "I've found where the Black Hundred hold their sessions." "By George, that's news!" "The room above is vacant. A little hole in the ceiling, and who knows what might happen?" "What do you want me to do?" "Tell Jones. When the next meeting comes around I'll advise you. I've stumbled upon a dissatisfied member. So, buck up, as they say. We've got two ends of the net down, and with a little care we'll have them all. Now let me have a hundred." Norton drew out a packet of bills and counted off five twenties. "Why don't you draw the cash yourself?" "It happens to be in your name, son." "I forgot," said Norton. "But what a chance for me! Nearly five thousand, all mine for a ticket to Algiers!" A grunt was the only reply.