"Good God, supposing anything has happened to Fred!" he thought,
suddenly remembering Granning's note. He burst upstairs and into the
room. Roscoe Marsh was by the fireplace, gravely examining a pocket
revolver, which lay in his hand. Granning was on the edge of the couch
staring at Fred DeLancy, who was sunk in a great chair, disheveled and
dirt-stained, a sodden, cold-drunk mass.

CHAPTER XVI

BOJO BEGINS TO SPEND HIS QUARTER-MILLION

At the sight of Fred DeLancy, Bojo checked himself. A glance from
Granning apprised him of the seriousness of the situation. He walked
over to the huddled figure and laid his hand on his shoulder.

"Hello there, Fred. It's Bojo."

DeLancy raised his head, looked out through glazed eyes, and slowly
withdrew his stare to the vacant fireplace, where a smoldering flicker
drew his mind.

"Found him an hour ago in a hell over in Eighth Avenue," said Marsh.
"Bad."

Granning beckoned him, and together they went into the bedroom, closing
the door.

"All right now. Guess he'll stay quiet. Pretty violent when we came
back," said Granning. "Wanted to throw himself out of the window."

"And the pistol," said Bojo, sick at the thought of what might have
been.

"Yes, we found that on him," said Granning gravely. "Lucky he got drunk
so quick, or that might have been serious." He hesitated and added: "He
swears he'll kill himself first chance. Guess I'd better keep my eye on
him to-night."

At this moment there was the sound of a scuffle from the den and a shout
from Marsh. They rushed in to find him grappling with Fred, who was
striving frantically to reach the window. For a moment the air was full
of shouts and sudden scurrying.

"Look out, he's got that paper-cutter!"

"In his right hand."

"All right, I've got him."

"Throw him over on the couch. Sit on him. That's it."

Under their combined weights, DeLancy was flung, hoarse and screaming
maledictions, to the couch, where despite objurgations and ravings
Granning secured his arms behind his back with a strap and hobbled his
legs. For half an hour Fred twisted and strove, raving and swearing or
suddenly weakly remorseful, bursting into tears, cursing himself and his
folly. The three sat silently, faces sternly masked, looking unwilling
on the ugly spectacle of human frenzy in the raw. At the end of this
time DeLancy became suddenly quiet and dropped off into sodden sleep.

"At last," said Granning, rising. "Best thin