Motioning for Flash to follow, Captain Johns strode across the empty lobby to the desk. Curtly he questioned the sleepy-eyed clerk as to the occupant of Room 47.
“Number 47? It was assigned about a half hour ago to Herbert Rascomb.”
“I’m going up there to see a man,” informed the captain. “Now get this straight. If I fail to return to the lobby within twenty minutes, notify Major Hartgrove in Room 267. Tell him to join me. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir. Twenty minutes.”
Flash and the captain walked up a flight of stairs to the first floor. The door of Room 47 was opened by a dignified looking man of forty-five who wore glasses and was slightly bald.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” he said in a polished voice. “I should not have invited you here at such a late hour, but certain misunderstandings must be cleared up before further harm is done.”
Mr. Gordon glanced significantly at Flash as if to imply that he deliberately and needlessly had created trouble.
A man sat at the window, his face swathed in bandages. Flash stopped short as he recognized him.
“Rascomb!”
“Evans, I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you alive!”