“Well, let’s make a stab at it,” suggested Tom, rather desperately, and they entered.
There was no need to ask the hotel clerk if Mr. Doolittle was a guest. The register was open and swung around facing them, having been left so when a man, who preceded Tom and Sam, put down his name in the book. And there, among the other signatures, was that of Aaron Doolittle.
“He’s here, Sam,” said Tom, quickly, but in a low voice.
“Is he? That’s good. Well, what’s the next move?”
“I don’t know. I want to think. Let’s go to a quiet place and sit down.”
The clerk saw the two cadets standing near the book. He dipped the pen in the ink, and held it out to them suggestively.
“Do you want single rooms, or a double one?” he asked.
“Neither one,” answered our hero, with a smile. “We came to see Mr. Doolittle,” he added, quickly making up his mind to a certain plan. “Is he in?”
The clerk turned to look at the key rack.
“He’s out,” he answered. “I remember now, he went out a little while ago.”