“Now, I’ll go up there and meet Haddon,” resumed Carton. “After I have been with him long enough to get into his confidence, suppose you two just happen along.”
Half an hour later Kennedy and I sauntered into the Prince Henry, where Carton had made the appointment in order to avoid suspicion that might arise if he were seen with Haddon at the Mayfair.
The two men were waiting for us—Haddon, by contrast with Carton, a weak-faced, nervous man, with bulgy eyes.
“Mr. Haddon,” introduced Carton, “let me present a couple of reporters from the Star—off duty, so that we can talk freely before them, I can assure you. Good fellows, too, Haddon.”
The hotel and cabaret keeper smiled a sickly smile and greeted us with a covert, questioning glance.
“This attack on Mr. Carton has unnerved me,” he shivered. “If any one dares to do that to him, what will they do to me?”
“Don’t get cold feet, Haddon,” urged Carton. “You’ll be all right. I’ll swing it for you.”
Haddon made no reply. At length he remarked: “You’ll excuse me for a moment. I must telephone to my hotel.”
He entered a booth in the shadow of the back of the cafe, where there was a slot-machine pay-station. “I think Haddon has his suspicions,” remarked Carton, “although he is too prudent to say anything yet.”
A moment later he returned. Something seemed to have happened. He looked less nervous. His face was brighter and his eyes clearer. What was it, I wondered? Could it be that he was playing a game with Carton and had given him a double cross? I was quite surprised at his next remark.