Kelly’s room was about what Claude had made up his mind to see after his meeting with him. It was in a tumble-down tenement-house at the head of two flights of stairs, and when Kelly produced the key from his pocket and opened the door, Claude found himself in a small seven-by-nine apartment which was almost destitute of furniture. Some dishes from which Kelly had eaten his supper were on the table, still unwashed; and the bed, from which he had arisen that morning, did not look as though it had been made up for a week. There was only one chair in the room, and Kelly gave it a shove with his foot, at the same time turning toward his trunk to get out some clothing.
“Sit down there,” said he. “I can remember when I did not have such a room as this; but that was before I got to travelling on my own hook. I suppose you had a better room than this out West?”
“Well, I had more furniture in it, but it was not such a room as I would have put a stranger in,” said Claude, who did not want to let Kelly see how little he thought of his quarters.
He then changed the subject by referring to Carl and Thompson. It was a matter of some moment to him, for what should he do in case these men made the attempt and failed? He did not like to think of it.
CHAPTER XXIV.
A Hard Fight.
In a short time Kelly had produced from his trunk some clothing which he put on, and when he announced that he was all ready Claude turned and looked at him. He would not have known that it was the same person who had conducted him to his room. Aside from the marks of dissipation which were plainly visible on his face, he looked to be just what he represented—a traveller out on business.
“Now all I want is to get shaved, and you can stay outside the shop and stop Hayward when he comes along,” said Kelly.
“If his clothing has changed him as much as it has you I don’t believe I will know him,” said Claude.
“He will know you, and that’s all you want. How will this valise do? There is nothing in it, but nobody is going to see the inside of it.”