He glanced round, and for the first time began to notice who was in the room. Presently his eyes fell upon the shining pate of Mr. Maitland, and his jaw dropped. He could not believe the evidence of his vision, and, rising, walked unsteadily across the floor, shouldering the other guests, stumbling against chairs and tables, until he stood by the table of his late employer.
“Gosh!” he gasped. “It is you!”
The old man raised his eyes slowly from the cloth which he had been contemplating steadily for ten minutes, and his steely eyes met the gaze steadily.
“You hoary old sinner!” breathed Ray.
“Go away,” snarled Mr. Maitland.
“ ‘Go away,’ is it? I’m going to talk to you and give you a few words of advice and warning, Moses!”
Ray sat down suddenly in a chair, and faced his glaring victim with drunken solemnity. His words of warning remained unuttered. Somebody gripped his arm and jerked him to his feet, and he looked into the dark face of Lew Brady.
“Here, what——” he began. But Brady led him and pushed him back to his own table.
“You fool!” he hissed. “Why do you want to advertise yourself in this way? You’re a hell of a Secret Service man!”
“I don’t want any of that stuff from you,” said Ray roughly as he jerked his arm free.