Barker nods. “He looked as if he was right out of the hospital; his head was bandaged. Perhaps some of the Cuban sympathizers had it out with him. However, that episode is closed, for the present at least. And now for Cyrus Felton. I shall take him directly to the Tombs, and according to our compact he will be invisible to any of the newspaper fraternity. Will you come with me to the St. James while I nab the bird?”
Ashley starts. He has for a moment forgotten the catastrophe that is about to overcome Cyrus Felton. He looks at his watch. “I am overdue at the office,” he says. “But say, Barker, I had an engagement to lunch with Felton and Miss Hathaway at 1 o’clock. Can’t you put off the arrest until to-morrow?”
Barker shakes his head. “Not a minute,” he replies, emphatically. “I have delayed long enough. If you intended to lunch with the fair Miss Hathaway you will have an opportunity to do so just the same and your presence will doubtless be appreciated in her tremendous confusion. If you can’t come with me I will drop round at the office and see you later.”
“All right, then. Do the job in as gentlemanly a manner as possible,” grins Ashley.
Barker nods and walks rapidly toward the St. James, while Ashley boards a Broadway car and rolls downtown.
The detective saunters up to the hotel office desk, writes the name “Cyrus Felton” on a bit of cardboard, and, passing it to the clerk, inquires: “Is that gentleman in?”
“No, sir; gone. Left an hour ago.”
“When will he return?”
“Well, that’s rather beyond me,” smiles the clerk. “Mr. Felton and a lady sailed this morning for Cuba, on the City of Havana. I assume that they did. They were driven from here to the pier.”
“What time does the steamer sail?” asks Barker, taking out his watch.