Ere we reached the hotel I was wrought up to a high pitch of excitement; the time for decisive action had arrived.
Preceded by the landlord, and in company with the two detectives, I ascended the principal staircase, at the top of which was the entrance to the dining-saloon.
The door was open, thus affording us a view of some twenty of the guests, and, among them, of the man in search of whom I had crossed the Atlantic.
He was sitting with his back to us, his wife and sister-in-law being on each side of him.
He appeared in high spirits, and was chatting with the various guests at the table, little dreaming who was standing at the open door, prepared to denounce him, if necessary, as a fugitive swindler from England.
I pointed him out to O’Leary, who calmly remarked, “That’s enough,” and then, as a second thought struck him, he added, with a spice of Irish humour, “but we’ll let him finish his dinner first, for he seems to be enjoying it so much.”
In accordance with so odd a request we allowed him a minute’s grace. He was then touched on the shoulder by the head waiter and informed that a gentleman was waiting to see him.
Still unsuspecting he arose from his seat and came towards us with a smiling countenance.
O’Leary met him, and with a slight inclination of the head, said, “Mr. Hooker, from England, I believe.”
“Yes,” was the apparent firm reply.