When they were completely talked out the meeting broke up. The comrades mounted the stairs in amity all controversies forgotten. With their bosoms relieved of much perilous stuff, they yawned comfortably, and began to think of supper. Jack attached himself to young Berg as they gained the street. "Say, that was a great speech," he said by way of ingratiating himself. The youth pushed the lank hair out of his eyes and looked at Jack wildly. The light of incipient madness was in his eyes. "Poor devil! Poor devil!" thought Jack. The sight hurt him. Aloud he said: "Let's go and have a bite of supper." Berg shook his head. "Oh, _come on_!" said Jack thrusting his arm through the other youth's. The tone of genuine friendliness must have reached the cold breast. Berg gave in without further objection. They entered one of the big bakery-restaurants on Grand street, and ordered coffee and hamburgers. The smell of cooking brought a faint color into Berg's livid cheeks, and his nostrils dilated. But the hamburgers were not destined to be eaten by them. When he had given the order Jack went into a booth to telephone Evers not to wait up for him, as he could lodge outside in his disguise and come in to change in the morning. Mrs. Evers took the message. When he came out of the booth Berg had left their table. "Where did my friend go?" Jack asked the waiter. "I dunno. Guy come in and spoke to him private, and he took his hat and went with him." "What kind of looking guy?" "Fat. Real black hair, black moustache, pale face. Dressed neat. Derby and black Melton overcoat." This was a good description of Comrade Wilde. "Oh, Damn!" muttered Jack. He put down the money for what he had ordered and left the place. He spent three hours wandering about the East Side, looking into such places as were still open, on the bare chance of running into his man. All in vain of course. Finally he sought out a cheap lodging and threw himself down exhausted. He was tormented by the sense of an impending disaster. 32 In the morning Jack called up the Madagascar to see if there was any message for him. It appeared that some one had telephoned him several times since the night before. No name had been left, but the telephone number was given. The number suggested nothing to Jack. He called it, and a voice strange to him answered. He asked if there was anyone there who wished to speak to Mr. Robinson, and after a pause he heard another voice, a squeaky treble. "This Mr. Robinson? Gee! I thought I'd never get hold of you!" "Who is it?" "Whitcomb. You know." "Whitcomb? I don't know," said Jack perplexed. "You know, your confidential agent that you gave orders to yesterday." A light broke on Jack. "Sure!" he cried. "Didn't recognize the name." "Well you never know who may be tapping the wire." "Very wise precaution. What is it, Tommy--I mean Whitcomb?" "I got a report to make." "Fire away."