"No objection to my taking my things along?"
"Your things, bo, will stay right where they are until Murphy looks them over."
"How am I to know that no one will enter this room while I'm down-stairs?"
"I can promise you that," said the manager.
"Don't open the window. There's a little bird up there on the curtain-pole; and he might fly out or try to."
The visitors stared at Malachi interestedly.
"He sha'n't be touched," declared the manager, a fit of trembling seizing him. If this turned out wrong and the victim came back with a suit of damages! "It's no fault of the hotel, sir. The order comes from the police."
A few words, the exhibition of a paper or two, and Mathison knew that the tide would have turned immediately in his favor. But this step he stubbornly refused to take. The spirit of the gambler who scorns to hedge. Upon leaving the security of the train he had laid his offerings at the feet of Chance. He would follow through. At any rate, he determined not to disclose his identity until he had to.
"Very well; I'll go with you. But I'll put the bird back in his cage if you don't mind."
After a bit of coaxing Malachi came down from his perch and Mathison bundled him into the cage, which he set beside the radiator. He then stepped into the corridor. But he waited to see if the manager locked the door. The manager did more than that. He gave the key to Mathison, who marched over to the elevator and pressed the button.