TOM HALSTEAD SPRINGS THE CLIMAX
“Can that fellow be here?” demanded Powell Seaton, his lips twitching.
“He must be—or else he has sent someone else with his baggage,” Tom Halstead answered, in an undertone.
None of the party had paused, but had passed on into the office.
“We’ve got to know,” whispered Powell Seaton, tremulously.
“Then you go ahead, sir, and register us for breakfast, and I’ll attend to finding out about this new puzzle.”
While Mr. Seaton went toward the desk, Tom signed to Hank Butts to follow him aside.
“About all you can do, Hank, is to get outside, not far from the door, and see whether Dalton goes out,” Halstead declared, after having briefly explained the situation. “If Dalton leaves the hotel, give us word at once.” 231
“Here, you take charge of this bag of mine, then,” begged Hank, turning so that the clerk at the desk could not see.
Butts had come ashore in a long rain-coat drawn on over his other clothing. Now, he quickly opened a small satchel that he had also brought with him.