“Ask the night-clerk,” exclaimed Orme impatiently. “Can’t you see that I don’t wish to be bothered any longer?”
He went over to the door and threw it open.
“Come,” he continued. “Well, here then”—as the detective did not move—“here’s my card. That ought to do you.”
He took a card from his pocket-case and offered it to the detective, who, after scrutinizing it for a moment, let it fall to the floor.
“Oh, it’s all right, I guess,” he said. “But what shall I say to the chief?”
“Simply say that I didn’t need you any longer.”
The detective picked up his hat and went.
“Thank Heaven!” exclaimed Orme as he closed the door. “But I wonder why I didn’t notice his hat. It was lying here in plain sight.”
He went to the telephone and spoke to the clerk. “Did you let that detective into my apartment?” he asked.
“Why, yes, Mr. Orme. He was one of the regular force, and he said that you wanted him here. I called up the chief’s office, and the order was corroborated. I meant to tell you when you came in, but you passed the desk just while I was down eating my supper. The elevator-boy let you in, didn’t he?”