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 you've heard of? For you wouldn't know the sort of man we need, Billy; thank Heaven!"

"Lowest?" Billy parroted again.

"That's what we mean, isn't it, Gregg?" Marjorie appealed.

Gregg had no course but to accept. "He mustn't sell out his side, Bill. That fellow who got Leverell out of that mix-up that the papers dropped all of a sudden last fall, Bill; what was his name?"

"Felix Rinderfeld?"

"That's the man!"

"Good God!" Billy whispered to himself. It seemed as if he had not been able quite to grasp what Marjorie and he were involved in until Gregg connected Rinderfeld with them.

"Do you know anybody better, Bill?"

That buzzer from the front door, which Billy and Marjorie had sounded so long, vibrated again but only for an instant and gently. Gregg stepped back into the sun parlor and saw on the street a long, white-topped motor-car.

"The ambulance is here," he announced quietly. "Go down, Bill, and let the men in; stretcher, of course, tell them."

Billy obeyed, relieved at something to do; Marjorie became whiter as her thought returned wholly to the physical condition of her father. She went into the bedroom and Grantham and Carson came out.

"Any change, doctor?" Gregg asked.

"No."

"Where's that car from, sir?"

"I called Fursten; he's a private firm."

"You're not taking Mr. Hale to St. Luke's, are you?"