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“It is a choice between Stanley Ryder and myself,” added the other. “And Stanley Ryder will have to fight his own battle.”

There was nothing more said. Each of the men sat buried in his own thoughts, and the only sound was the hum of the automobile as it sped up Broadway.

Montague was working out another course of action. He moved to another seat in the car where he could see the numbers upon the street lamps as they flashed by; and at last he touched the General upon the knee. “I will leave you at the next corner,” he said.

The General pressed the button which signalled his chauffeur, and the car drew up at the curb. Montague descended.

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“Good night, General,” he said.

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“Good night,” said the other, in a faint voice. He did not offer to take Montague's hand. The latter closed the door of the car, and it sped away up the street.

Then he crossed over and went down to the River drive, and entered Lucy's apartment house.

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“Is Mrs. Taylor in?” he asked of the clerk.

“I'll see,” said the man. Montague gave his name and added, “Tell her it is very important.”

Lucy came to the door herself, clad in an evening gown.

One glance at his haggard face was enough to tell her that something was wrong. “What is it, Allan?” she cried.

He hung up his hat and coat, and went into the drawing-room.

“What is it, Allan?” she cried again.

“Lucy, do you know where Stanley Ryder is?” he asked.

“Yes,” she answered, and added quickly, “Oh! it's some bad news!”

“It is,” said he. “He must be found at once.”

She stared at him for a moment, hesitating; then, her anxiety overcoming every other emotion, she said, “He is in the next room.”

“Call him,” said Montague.

Lucy ran to the door. “Come in. Quickly!” she called, and Ryder appeared.