Mortimer De Royster lost his rather careless manner, and was all attention.
"A fellow named Wakely. He took rooms here a day or so ago. Made friends with Mr. Bradner—Roy, I call him, for I feel quite friendly toward him. Late this afternoon Wakely came to me and said Roy was sick, and he was going to take him to a doctor."
"And did he?"
"That's what he did. Took his baggage too," and the clerk related what had taken place.
"What sort of a fellow was this Wakely?" asked De Royster, with increasing interest.
The clerk described him. The dudish jewelry salesman shook his head.
"I don't recognize him," he said. "What do you think about it? You saw him."
"I'll tell you what I think," went on the clerk. "I think that fellow Wakely is up to some game, and I wish Roy had not made his acquaintance."
"That's just what I believe," exclaimed De Royster. "It seems a queer thing that Roy should be taken sick so suddenly. Why, he was as healthy as a young ox. I'll wager there's something wrong. He came here to New York to expose a man he thought was a swindler, and I believe the man has him in his power now. I must do something to aid him."
"What are you going to do?" asked the clerk, as De Royster started out of the hotel.