Yes, it was getting "warm"--perilously warm! And inevitably there must come an end--some day. The warning stared him in the face. But he could not stop, could not heed the warning, could not let things "cool" now for a year, and stand aside until the storm should have subsided! Where was the Tocsin? If his peril was great--what was hers!
He surged suddenly upward from his chair, his hands clenched until the knuckles stood out like ivory knobs. The Tocsin! The woman he loved--where was she? Was she safe _to-night?_ Where was she? He could not stop until that question had been answered, be the consequences what they might! Warnings, the realisation of peril--he laughed shortly, in grim bitterness--counted little in the balance after all, did they not! Where was the Tocsin?
The telephone rang. Jimmie Dale stared at the instrument for a moment, as though it were some singular and uninvited intruder who had broken in without warrant upon his train of thought; and then, leaning forward over the table, he lifted the receiver from the hook.
"Yes? Hello! Yes?" inquired Jimmie Dale. "What is it?"
A man's voice, hurried, and seemingly somewhat agitated, answered him.
"I would like to speak to Mr. Dale--to Mr. Dale in person."
"This is Mr. Dale speaking," said Jimmie Dale a little brusquely. "What is it?"
"Oh, is that you, Mr. Dale?" The voice had quickened perceptibly. "I didn't recognise your voice--but then I haven't heard it for a long while, have I? This is Forrester. Are--are you very busy to-night, Mr. Dale?"
"Oh, hello, Forrester!" Jimmie Dale's voice had grown more affable. "Busy? Well, I don't know. It depends on what you mean by busy."
"An hour or two," the other suggested--the tinge of anxiety in his tones growing more pronounced. "The time to run out here in your car. I haven't any right to ask it, I know, but the truth is I--I want to talk to some one pretty badly, and I need some financial help, and--and I thought of you. I--I'm afraid there's a mess here. The bank examiners landed in suddenly late this afternoon."
"The--_what_?" demanded Jimmie Dale sharply.
"The bank examiners--I--I can't talk over the 'phone. Only, for God's sake, come--will you? I'll be in my rooms--you know where they are, don't you--on the cottier over--"