"Who is the old gentleman whom you just passed?" asked Brassfield. "The one with the glasses."
"That?" asked the policeman. "Why, didn't you recognize him? That's your friend the hypnotist, up at the hotel—Professor Blatherwick."
"Oh," said Brassfield as he walked on, "I didn't know him in the dusk. We'll have to have better street lighting, eh, Mallory?"
"No bad idea!" said Mallory. "Well, it'll be for you to say, I'm thinking."
"You don't think there's anything in this new movement, do you?" asked Brassfield.
"Oh, no, sir," said the officer. "And yet, in politics you never know. But I feel sure it'll be all right. They can't do much this evening and to-morrow. Time's too short."
Brassfield hurried on with an air of anxiety. The policeman's words were not reassuring. He turned down a side street and entered a restaurant, the proprietor of which at once placed himself and his establishment at Mr. Brassfield's command.
"Give me the Turkish room, Tony," said Brassfield.
"Yes, sir, the Turkish room: and Charles to wait?"
"Yes," said Brassfield. "Cook me a tenderloin; and don't let any one come into the room."