"Take a good look at me," he said to the clerk; "then go to the safe and get the manila envelope with my photographs on it."
"Yes, sir. I was waiting for you," replied the clerk, with subdued excitement. "The man who presented the receipt is in charge in your rooms." He returned shortly with the envelope.
Mathison crumpled it into a pocket. "Of course you understand that all these mysterious actions have to do with the government and that there must be absolute secrecy on the part of the management."
"I have my orders to that effect, sir."
Mathison nodded and turned toward the nearest elevator shaft.
In a room on the ninth floor were three men. One sat near the window. His arms were folded, and in his lap was a Colt. The fire-escape was outside this window. In a manner peculiar to Americans, he rocked on the rear legs of his chair; and every little while there was a slight thud as the chair-back hit the wall or the forelegs hit the floor. The second man sat with his back toward the bathroom. From this point of vantage he could watch both the entrance to the room and the man on the bed. He evinced signs of boredom, as did the face of his companion. He was toying with an automatic. He was sunk in his chair, his legs resting on the heels of his shoes.
The prisoner, his hands clasped behind his head, seemed particularly interested in a pattern on the ceiling; but in reality he was counting the thuds of the Secret Service operative's chair; and out of this sound developed a daring campaign for liberty. Because he had surrendered docilely, without a sign of protest or struggle, he was confident he had by this time broken a wedge into the vigilance of his captors. He was a big man, blond, but his cheeks were no longer ruddy.
On a stand by the radiator Malachi occasionally shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He didn't love anybody, and he never was going to love anybody again. His nose—or rather his beak—was thoroughly out of joint with the world. Rooms that swung high and swung low; rooms that rattled and banged, the red walls of which hurt his eyes; and rooms with glaring lights. And always, just as he believed his troubles over, up went the cotton bag and he was off to other surprises. No; he was never going to love anybody again.
The man near the bathroom inspected his watch. "He ought to be along now."
The man on the bed sat up. Slowly he swung his legs to the floor. He rubbed his palms together, and the links between the manacles clinked slightly. He stood up.