If any direct inquiry were made, Mrs. Hooker would probably communicate with her husband and prevent his return; after a short consultation we decided to leave the matter in the hands of O’Leary, the detective.
I went for him at once, and fortunately found him at the chief office of police. As I have previously stated, he was a sharp-witted Irishman, of gentlemanly bearing.
After deliberately reading the letter which had been intrusted to me by Mr. Allan’s clerk, he took my hand in his own, and, grasping it warmly, he said in his native accent, “My dear sirr-h—it’s all right—lave it to me.”
On our way to Montreal House he informed me that he knew, and had the greatest confidence in, the landlord, from whom he could obtain every information without exciting suspicion.
We entered the house by the public bar, and of course were at once the object of that curiosity which is invariably manifested when a detective officer appears in company with a stranger in a public place of that description.
The character of O’Leary was too well known for any one to venture upon a remark beyond an inquiry as to the state of his health, and “what would he drink?”
One cadaverous-looking Yankee put the latter question to me, but, as I was a stranger to him; I politely declined to take anything.
I soon discovered that I had committed rather a grave sin, for the Yankee appeared much irritated at my refusal, and advised me if I were going to New York, never to decline such an offer if it were made to me in that city, or, said he, “I guess it will be worse for you.”
On returning to O’Leary, I found him carelessly glancing at the names in the arrival book of the hotel.
Suddenly he closed the book, took it in his hand, and gave me a sign to follow him into an inner office.