"Possess your soul in peace. I'm not going to do anything foolish. Time enough left for that sort of thing. I will get him some day, but not now. By the way, what is the number of your room?"
"Twenty-two,—on the next floor."
"Good. Go upstairs now and I'll join you in about ten minutes. I will tap three times on your door."
"Why should you come to my room, Sprouse? We can say all that is to be said—"
"If you will look on the register you will discover that Mr. J. H. Prosser registered here about half an hour ago. He is in room 30. He left a call for five o'clock. Well, Prosser is another name for Ugo."
"Here in this hotel? In room 30?" cried Barnes, incredulously.
"Sure as you're alive. Left the cottage an hour ago. Came in a jitney or I could have got to him on the way over."
Barnes, regardless of consequences, dashed over to inspect the register. Sprouse followed leisurely, shooting anxious glances up the stairs at the end of the lobby.
"See!" cried Barnes, excitedly, putting his finger on the name "Miss Jones." "She's in room 32,—next to his. By gad, Sprouse, do you suppose he knows that she is here? Would the dog undertake anything—"
"You may be sure he doesn't know she's here, or you either, for that matter. The country's full of Joneses and Barneses. Go on upstairs. Leave everything to me."