Mark had worked seriously to win Caroline.  She was remarkably dexterous; she was the soul of courage; and, if he could once make her love her work, she would make him rich.  In the meantime she did very well indeed, and he strengthened his hold on her through her brother.  It was not hard to do.  If Jerry Smith was the soul of recklessness, he was the soul of honor, also, in many ways.  John Mark had only to lead the boy toward a life of heavy expenditures and gaming, lending him, from time to time, the wherewithal to keep it up.  In this way he anchored Jerry as a safeguard to windward, in case of trouble.

But, now that Ronicky Doone had entered the tangle, everything was changed.  That clear-eyed fellow might see through to the very bottom of Mark’s tidewater plans.  He might step in and cut the Gordian knot by simply paying off Jerry’s debts.  Telling the boy to laugh at the danger of exposure, Doone could snatch him away to the West.  So Mark came to forestall Ronicky, by sending Jerry out of town and out of reach, for the time being.  He would not risk the effect of Ronicky’s tongue.  Had not Caroline been persuaded under his very eyes by this strange Westerner?

Very early the next morning John Mark went straight to the apartment of his protege.  It was his own man, Northup, who answered the bell and opened the door to him.  He had supplied Northup to Jerry Smith, immediately after Caroline accomplished the lifting of the Larrigan emeralds.  That clever piece of work had proved the worth of the girl and made it necessary to spare no expense on Jerry.  So he had given him the tried and proven Northup.

The moment he looked into the grinning face of Northup he knew that the master was not at home, and both the chief and the servant relaxed.  They were friends of too long a term to stand on ceremony.

“There’s no one here?” asked Mark, as a matter of form.

“Not a soul—­the kid skipped—­not a soul in the house.”

“Suppose he were to come up behind the door and hear you talk about him like this, Northup?  He’s trim you down nicely, eh?”

“Him?” asked Northup, with an eloquent jerk of his hand.  “He’s a husky young brute, but it ain’t brute force that I work with.”  He smiled significantly into the face of the other, and John Mark smiled in return.  They understood one another perfectly.

“When is he coming back?”

“Didn’t leave any word, chief.”

“Isn’t this earlier than his usual time for starting the day?”

“It is, by five hours.  The lazy pup don’t usually crack an eye till one in the afternoon.”

“What happened this morning.”

“Something rare—­something it would have done your heart good to see!”

“Out with it, Northup.”

“I was routed out of bed at eight by a jangling of the telephone.  The operator downstairs said a gentleman was calling on Mr. Smith.  I said, of course, that Mr. Smith couldn’t be called on at that hour.  Then the operator said the gentleman would come up to the door and explain.  I told him to come ahead.