“Is it not that I have said it twenty—thirty—a hundred times?” insisted the portier. “And you are not the only one who has asked. There have been three others here, including an agent of police. Ah, Monsieur Grey! He had better stay away, perhaps.”
When at length the room of the American was reached and the door locked on the inside, Grey turned to his friend.
“Did you overhear the conversation below?” he asked.
“I caught snatches of it. A wire for someone, wasn’t it?”
“Yes; for me.”
“For you?” O’Hara stared. “Then why in God’s name didn’t you take it?”
“I couldn’t afford to, and yet I’d give a good deal to know its message.”
“But it was for a person named Grey, I thought. You are Grey, then?”
“Yes.”
“And the police officer! He was looking for—you?”