"A cool one," whispered the excited clerk. "Didn't I tell you there was something off-color?"
The manager made a gesture. He wasn't at all happy. People would have smiled over an elopement; but the arrest of a dangerous criminal always reacted against the hotel. "You need not worry about your belongings, sir," he said to Mathison.
"I'm not worrying. I'm going to leave that for you to do."
"Bluff won't get you anywhere," growled the house detective.
"It seems to have landed you a soft job," countered Mathison, smiling as he entered the elevator.
The clerk grinned. He and the house detective were not exactly friendly.
Once in the manager's private office, Mathison coolly appropriated the managerial chair. He kept his eye on the desk clock and appeared oblivious to the low murmurings behind his back. Five minutes—ten—fifteen; he could feel the sweat rising at the roots of his hair. Trapped! They had come at him from an original angle, and the only counter for it was the disclosure of his hand. No doubt the woman was already at work. If they took him to the police-station for the night; if the maid cleaned out the room thoroughly in the morning!
"Got him, I see!" cried a cheery voice from the doorway.