hat his master was out, and not expected home until two or
three in the morning.

This arrangement obviously referred to the Van Hofen festivity, so
Clancy contented himself with asking the valet to give the Senator a
card on which he scribbled a telephone number and the words, "Please
ring up when you get this."

Now, he knew, and Senator Meiklejohn knew, the theater at which Mrs.
Tower was enjoying herself. He did not imagine for an instant that the
Senator was discharging the mournful duty of announcing to his friend's
wife the lamentable fate which had overtaken her husband. Merely as a
perfunctory duty he went to the theater and sought the manager.

"You know Mrs. Ronald Tower?" he said.

"Sure I do," said the official. "She's inside now. Came here with Bobby
Forrest."

"Anybody called for her recently?"

"I think not, but I'll soon find out."

No. Mrs. Tower's appreciation of Belasco's genius had not been disturbed
that evening.

"Anything wrong?" inquired the manager.

Clancy's answer was ready.

"If Senator Meiklejohn comes here within half an hour, see that the lady
is told at once," he said. "If he doesn't show up in that time, send for
Mr. Forrest, tell him that Mr. Tower has met with an accident, and leave
him to look after the lady."

"Wow! Is it serious? Why wait?"

"The slight delay won't matter, and the Senator can handle the situation
better than Forrest."

Clancy gave some telephonic instruction to the man on night duty at
headquarters. He even dictated a paragraph for the press. Then he went
straight to bed, for the hardiest detectives must sleep, and he had a
full day's work before him when next the sun rose over New York.

He summed up Meiklejohn's action correctly. The Senator did not
communicate with Mulberry Street during the night, so Clancy was an
early visitor at his apartment.

"The Senator is ill and can see no one," said the valet.

"No matter how ill he may be, he must see me," retorted Clancy.

"But he musn't be disturbed. I have my orders."

"Take a fresh set. He's going to be disturbed right now, by you or me.
Choose quick!"

The law prevailed. A few minutes later Senator Meiklejohn entered the
library sitting-room, where the little detective awaited him. He looked
wretchedly ill, but his sufferings were mental, not physical. Examined
critically now, in the cold light of day, he was a very different man
from the spruce, dandified politician and financier who fig