At this juncture Mr. Felton returns with the information that they have little more than an hour to reach Barclay Street and the North River, from which point the steamer leaves.
“Then let us go at once. I am ready,” Louise says, “after I have scribbled a note of explanation to Mr. Ashley. He was to have lunched with us at 1 o’clock, you know.”
After they have gone Van Zandt drops his head upon his hand, and for the space of ten minutes remains plunged in thought. Then, to the waiter’s surprise, he leaves his breakfast untouched and quits the dining-room.
In the office he sees Mr. Felton settling his bill. Outside the hotel a line of “cabbies” are drawn up and these Van Zandt looks over critically, finally signaling to one of them, a jovial, red visaged Irishman.
“Riley, a lady and gentleman are going from this hotel to Barclay Street and North River within a few minutes. I want you to have the job of carrying them,” says Van Zandt.
“I’m agreeable, sor.”
“After you have secured the job, I want you to miss the steamer which sails for Cuba at 11 o’clock. Understand?”
Riley puckers up his mouth for a whistle which he decides to suppress.
“Sure that would not be hard, sor. It’s tin o’clock now.”
“Here they come now. Look to your job,” says Van Zandt.