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Broadway is not the only place in the world where they act on the belief that a man’s past is his own and should not be held against him.
    Besides, Sherman had admitted that Knowlton had merely been suspected. There had been no evidence; he had been allowed to go free. And Dumain was not inclined to strike a blow at an innocent man who suffered under the blasting stigma of an unproved accusation.
    Still, there was Lila. She must be protected at any cost. And had not Dumain himself noticed her interest in Knowlton? What if she really loved him?
    And what if Knowlton was the sort of man Sherman had declared him to be? Clearly it meant Lila’s ruin. For it is the belief of all Broadway cynics that any woman will do anything for the man she loves. So, early the next morning (that is, early for him), Dumain made his decision on the side of prudence.
    He spoke first to Dougherty. The ex-prizefighter was greatly surprised.
    “I like Knowlton,” he said, “and I believe you’re wrong to suspect him. But you know what I think of Miss Williams; and where she’s concerned we can’t leave any room for doubt. Knowlton must be informed that he is absolutely not wanted.”
    “Zat ees zee way eet looks to me,” said Dumain.
    He had met Dougherty on Broadway, and as they talked they strolled to the hotel and entered the lobby. The hotel clerk threw them a familiar nod. Miss Hughes sang out a cheery “Good morning,” and Lila smiled pleasantly as they passed her desk. Except for two or three strangers, probably commercial buyers, reading their morning newspapers, the place was empty.
    “Sure,” said Dougherty, continuing. “When are you going to tell him?”
    Dumain looked aghast.
    “Tom! Surely you don’t expect me to tell heem?”
    “Why not?”
    “What! How could I? Here are zee facts: Knowlton weighs one hundred and eighty pounds. I weigh a hundred and twentee. It would be absurd. I don’t think I am a coward; but I would like to leeve anozzer year or two.”
    Dougherty laughed.
    “All right. Leave it to me. I’ll tell him. It’s too bad,” he added regretfully. “I liked Knowlton.”
    A few minutes later Knowlton entered the lobby. He walked straight to Lila’s desk and wrote out a telegram. Dumain and Dougherty, who were only a few feet away, overheard the conversation.
    “You’re early this morning,” said Lila, as Knowlton handed her a bill from a bulging wallet.
    Knowlton glanced at his watch.
    “Early? It’s past eleven.”
    “I know. But that’s early for you.”
    “Perhaps. A little,” Knowlton admitted. “And how are you this fine wintry morning?”
    “Well, thank you,” Lila smiled.
    Knowlton turned away.
    “In the name of Heaven, is there anything wrong with that?” Dougherty growled.
    “No,” Dumain admitted. “But zee die is cast. Never retract a deleeberate decision. There’s your man; go after heem.”
    The ex-prizefighter started across the lobby. Knowlton turned.
    “Hello, Tom!”
    “Good morning,” said Dougherty, visibly ill at ease.
    “Are you on for a game of billiards?”
    “No,” Dougherty hesitated. “The fact is, Knowlton, there’s something I have to say to you.”
    “Is it much?” Knowlton smiled.
    “It’s enough.”
    “Then come over to the corner. It’s more comfortable. Hello, Dumain. How’s the world?” Knowlton continued chattering as they walked to the leather lounge sacred to the Erring Knights. Then he produced some cigars, offering one to Dougherty.
    “No, thanks,” said Dougherty stiffly.
    “What! Won’t take a cigar? What’s happened?”
    Dougherty coughed and cleared his throat.
    “Well,” he stammered, “the truth is we—that is, they—they think you ought to go—that is, leave—Oh, darn it all!”
    “Easy, Tom,” said Knowlton. “Give it to me a word at a time.”
    Dougherty recommenced his stammering, but a word here and there gave Knowlton an idea of what he was trying to say.
    “I believe,” he interrupted, “you are