"Perhaps, very soon; two o'clock or something like that--and again it may take time to find anything. Suppose we say five or half-past five this afternoon; to be safe, you understand. Half-past five?"

"Very well," agreed Beale, and turned to Braceway: "Will that be satisfactory?"

"Perfectly."

Braceway left them, their mask-like faces plainly damaged by anxiety; their cool, slow utterance slightly humanized by the realization that they must act at once. In fact, as the detective closed the door of the private office, Mr. Jones was reaching with long, slender fingers for the telephone. They would need the best accountant they could find for the quick work they had promised Braceway.

CHAPTER XX

THE DISCOVERY OF THE JEWELS

Braceway returned to the lobby of his hotel, and, having bought half a dozen New York newspapers, settled down to wait for a report from Golson's bureau concerning Morley's movements. A little after eleven he was called to the telephone.

"Your man caught the eight o'clock train for Baltimore." Golson himself gave the information. "Delaney also caught it. They got to Baltimore at nine. Your man took a taxi straight to the shop of an old fellow named Eidstein, reaching there at twenty minutes past nine. He and Eidstein went into Eidstein's private office back of the shop and stayed there for over an hour, in fact until about half-past ten. Your man came out and went to a down-town hotel. He was there when Delaney, still sticking to him, managed to get a wire to me telling me what I've just told you."

"Fine!" said Braceway. "What was he doing in the hotel? Did he meet anybody, or write anything?"

"Delaney didn't say."

"Who's this Eidstein, a p.a.w.n broker?"

"No; he's a dealer in antiques: furniture, old gold, old jewels, anything old. He stands well over there. He's all right. I know all about him."

"That's funny, isn't it?"

"What's funny?"

"That he didn't go to a p.a.w.nshop."

"Keep your shirt on," laughed Golson. "The day's not over yet."

"No doubt about that. What about Corning, the loan-shark in Virginia?"

"I've got a man over there, just as you asked. Shall I keep him on?"

"Sure!" snapped Braceway. "Suppose Morley gives Delaney the slip in Baltimore and doubles back to Corning's! Keep him there all day."

He left the telephone and went up to Bristow's room, No. 717. When he knocked, the door was opened by a young woman in the uniform and cap of a trained nurse.

"I beg your pardon," he began, "I got the wrong room, I'm afraid. I----"

"This is Mr. Bristow's room," she said in a low tone. "Are you Mr.

Braceway?"

"Yes."

"Come in, then, please." She stepped back and held open the door. "Mr.

Bristow's still very weak, but he told me to let you in. He said he must see you as soon as you arrived."

Braceway saw that there was no bed in the room, and asked where the sick man was. The nurse pointed to a closed door leading into the adjoining room.

"What's the matter with him?" he asked. "By George! He hasn't had a hemorrhage, has he?"

"Yes, sir. That's exactly what he has had. The doctor says all he needs now is rest. He doesn't think there's any real danger. Will you go in to see him?"

She quietly opened the door to the sickroom. Braceway went in on tiptoes, but Bristow stirred and turned toward him when the nurse put up the window shade.

"You'll have to lie still, Mr. Bristow," she cautioned on her way out.

"It's so important to keep these ice-packs in place."

"Thanks, Miss Martin; I shall get on," he answered in a voice so weak that it startled Braceway.

"I don't think you'd better talk," said his visitor. "Really, I wouldn't."

Bristow gave him a wry smile.

"It's nothing serious; just a--pretty bad hemorrhage," he said, finding it necessary to pause between words. "The boneheaded Mowbray--my physician in Furmville, you know--was right for once. He said--this might happen."

"I'm going out and let you sleep," Braceway insisted, displaying the average man's feeling of absolute helplessness in a sickroom.

"No, not yet. The fellow I had in--knows his business--put ice on the lung and on my heart--gave me something to lessen the heart action."

"And you're not in pain?"

"No. I'll be all right in--in a little--One thing I wanted to--tell you.

Quite important--really."

He mopped his forehead with tremulous, futile little dabs which accentuated his weakness. Braceway instinctively drew his chair closer to the bed so as to catch all of the scarcely audible words.

"Just occurred to me," the sick man struggled on, "just--before I had this hemor--Ought to have somebody, extra man, working with Platt and Delaney. Tell you why: if Morley mailed the jewelry that--night of the murder, he wasn't fool--enough to mail it to himself or to his own--house. If he visits anybody today--we ought to have an extra man with Delaney. Delaney can keep on Morley's trail--extra man can watch and--if necessary, question anybody Morley visits or consults with.

Then----"

"Correct!" exclaimed Braceway. "Right you are! Who says you're sick? Why, your bean's working fine. Don't try to talk any more. I'm going out to get busy on that very suggestion."

"Another thing," Bristow said, lifting a feeble hand to detain his visitor. "Come up here at six--this evening, will you? I'll have my strength back by that time. Don't laugh. I will. I know I will. I've had hemorrhages before this."

"What do you want to do at six?"

"Help you--be with you when you question Morley. Promise me. I'll be in shape by that time."

Braceway promised, and went into the outer room.

"Do you think," he asked Miss Martin, "there's the slightest chance of his getting up this evening, or tonight?"