Of course! Delamare had threatened to defy the blackmailers!
Delamare's house was on the North side of East Sixty-fourth Street:
Delamare had been the principal speaker at the bankers' dinner the
night before: Jack thought of the man's fine courage, his humanity, his
humor, his unfailing kindness to himself, and turned sick with horror.
"I have not time!" he groaned.
He fell on the telephone book. Delamare's address was not listed
there. Like many a prominent man he did not care to subject his home
to the annoyance of calls from cranks and strangers. It is useless to
ask Information for such numbers. Jack tried the bank but it was
before the opening hour and he could get no answer. Meanwhile the
precious moments were slipping.
He snatched up his hat, and ran out of the room careless if all his
work was destroyed, so he might save his friend. He had to run half a
block before he met a taxicab. That took him swiftly enough to
Delamare's house. The inexpressive blind windows told him nothing of
what was happening within. It was exactly nine-thirty when he rang the
bell. He prayed that Delamare might oversleep to-day.
The door was opened by a middle-aged caretaker, with a somewhat
forbidding look, evidently Monahan.
"I must see Mr. Delamare at once!" said Jack breathlessly.
"Not at home. You'll have to go to his office," was the stolid
response.
Jack could stand no more. "Good God, man! His life is threatened. I
must warn him!"
Monahan was sure then that he had a crank to deal with. He barred the
way with his great bulk. "Take yourself off!" he growled. "Or I'll
call the police."
Jack almost despaired. "Shut the door and leave me here if you want,"
he said, "but for God's sake go to your master quickly. Keep him out
of the dining-room until you search it. There's a murderer hidden
there!"
Monahan's mind moved slowly. He stood staring at Jack full of sullen
suspicion.
"Go! Go!" cried Jack.
A shot rang out in the house, seemingly right behind Monahan.
"Too late!" cried Jack.
The sound of the shot galvanized the heavy-witted one into action.
Turning, he ran from the door, leaving it open. Jack followed him.
The dining-room as he already knew adjoined the hall. As Monahan
opened the door there was flashed on Jack's brain the picture of a man
standing with a gun in his hand, and another lying face down on the
floor.
"Seize him!" he cried instinctively.
But at the sound of their coming, the erect man turned, and Jack saw
that it was Delamare with face pale but composed.
"Oh, you're all right! Thank God!" cried Jack. The suddenness of the
reaction almost unmanned him. He had to support himself against the
door frame.
"You, Robinson?" said Delamare in a low steady voice. "Were you warned
of this?"
"Just ten minutes ago. I came as quickly as I could."
"Do you know him?" asked Delamare pointing to the figure on the floor.
"I think so. Turn him over."
Monahan obeyed, and as Jack had expected, he saw the livid, drawn face
of the half mad youth he had tried to befriend. The eyes were closed.