Marquette walked over and stepped up to a man who was writing at a desk.
“Mr. Peterson?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“I must see Lieutenant Raymond Branson immediately.”
Peterson smiled as he shook his head.
“It’s all set for to-morrow,” he said. “Looks like we’ll have the break he’s been waiting for. He’s asleep now. Can’t be disturbed.” He noted the firm look on Marquette’s face. “Who are you, anyway?” he asked.
The secret-service man drew back the lapel of his coat, and revealed a badge. A surprised look came over Peterson’s face.
“What’s up?” he questioned anxiously. “Nothing the matter, is there? No trouble for Branson? I can’t figure this, at all — ” He rose from the desk as he spoke.
“No trouble at all,” said Marquette quietly. “I want to see Branson in private. That’s all. He’ll understand when he talks to me.”
“I’ll take you to his room,” agreed Peterson. “Come on. I’ll get the key.”