"Number 238 Park waiting," the latter announced, a few moments later.
Jocelyn Thew reentered the box and took up the receiver.
"That you, Rentoul?" he asked.
"Speaking," was the guarded reply. "Who is it?"
"Jocelyn Thew. Say, what's wrong with you? Don't go away."
"What is it? Speak quickly, please."
"You seem rather nervy up there. I'm off to Europe to-morrow on the
_City of Boston_, and I should like to see you before I go."
There was a moment's silence.
"Why don't you come up here, then?"
"I'd rather not," Jocelyn Thew observed laconically. "The fact of it
is, I have a friend around who doesn't seem to care about losing sight
of me. If you are going to be anywhere around near Jimmy's, about
seven o'clock--"
"That goes," was the somewhat agitated reply. "Ring off now. There's
some one else waiting to speak."
Jocelyn Thew paid for his telephone call and walked leisurely out of
the hotel with a smile upon his lips. The stimulus of danger was like
wine to him. The little man was choosing a cigar at the stall. As he
leaned down to light it, Jocelyn Thew's practiced eye caught the shape
of a revolver in his hip pocket.
"English," he murmured softly to himself. "Probably one of Crawshay's
lot, preparing a report for him when he returns from Chicago.
Pages:
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40