“It’s Virginia I’m worrying about now,” said Parlmee, tossing aside his half-smoked cigarette.
“But if she was contemplating sailing for the United States with her father–”
“Her cablegram to me didn’t mention her father. I got the impression that she was sailing alone.”
“And she didn’t sail! Where is she? What happened to her? Do you wonder I’m rattled? I’ve made arrangements so that I can have a month, if necessary, to dig into this business. If that isn’t enough, I’ll take all the time needed. It’s the deuce to pay, Locke, as sure as you’re a foot high.”
“In more ways than one,” agreed Lefty. “I could tell you some other things, but you’ve got enough to worry about. We must arrange to keep in touch with each other. I presume I’ll go back to Fernandon when I get through here.”
“Here’s my New York address,” said Parlmee, handing over his card, and rising.
Five minutes after they separated old Jack Kennedy arrived, dusty and weary from his railroad journey. His shoulders were a trifle stooped, and he looked older by years, but his keen eyes lighted with a twinkle as he grasped Locke’s hand.
“I knew you’d beat me to it, Lefty,” he said. “Wouldn’t have called on you to make the jaunt, but I had to chin with you face to face. Let’s talk first and feed our faces afterward.”
The veteran registered, and they took the elevator. Carrying Kennedy’s traveling bag, a boy conducted them. A bar boy, bearing a tray that was decorated with drinks, was knocking on a door. Within the room somebody called for him to enter, and he did so as Locke was passing at old Jack’s heels. By chance Lefty obtained a glimpse of the interior of that room before the door closed behind the boy. Two men, smoking cigars, were sitting at opposite sides of a table on which were empty glasses. They were Mit Skullen and Bailey Weegman.