CHAPTER XVII.
CALLED TO THE RESCUE.
Harvey Hamilton struck a match, after he had unlocked the door of his room and stepped inside. He lighted the gas and seated himself beside the stand in front of the mirror, to wait the brief interval. He continually glanced at his watch and twice held it to his ear to make sure it had not stopped. At three minutes to nine, he slipped it into his pocket, leaned back and listened.
“I shall soon hear his footstep,” was his thought; “everything is so still that if he comes in his stocking feet it will be perceptible on the bare floor——”
But, though the listening youth had not caught the slightest noise, he now heard a gentle tap, tap. He stepped hastily across the room and drew the door open. The gas light in the apartment showed the man in gray wrapped in the fainter illumination of the hall around and behind him. He did not speak until he had stepped inside. Then in the lowest and softest of voices he said:
“If you don’t mind,” gently turning the key in the closed door, and stepping forward so as to be as far as possible from the threshold. As if still uneasy, he glanced under the bed as his head came on a level with the post. Then he rose and peeped into the closet, where nothing hung but the outer coat of the rightful occupant.
“You will excuse me, Harvey, but I must make sure we are alone,” said the man apologetically.
The host felt a touch of surprise at being addressed by his given name, but smiled as he also seated himself, with only the width of the little stand in the middle of the room between them.
“You need have no misgivings, sir; we are as much alone as if we were a mile high in my aeroplane.”
Asking permission, the guest lighted a cigar and hitched as near as he could to the young man.
“You were surprised to receive that note from me?”