“Won't you take in a message from me? I'll explain—”
“Explain to me. That's what I'm here for.”
Telling that cold-blooded person that this visitor was the broken master of the Montana was out of the question. To mention the case of the Montana to this watchdog was dangerous. But Mayo dreaded to go back to the street again.
“I'll stay here a little while and perhaps I can—” he began.
“If you stay here without explaining your business I'll have you escorted down to the street by an officer, my friend.”
Mayo rose and hurried out.
“An officer!” Even in his despairing and innocent quest of a hearing he was threatened with arrest! He sneaked back to his lodgings and hid himself in the squalid apartment and nursed the misery of his soul.
That night Mayo sat till late, toiling over a letter addressed to Julius Marston.
He despatched it by messenger at an early hour, and mustered his courage in the middle of the forenoon and followed in person. He assumed a boldness he did not feel in his quaking heart when he approached the guardian of the outer office.
“Will you ask Mr. Marston if he will see the man who sent him a letter by messenger this morning?” “What letter? Signed by what name?” “He will understand what letter I refer to.” “He will, will he?” The attendant gave this applicant sharp scrutiny. The coast-guard captain's liberty garments were not impressive, nor did they fit very well. Mayo displayed the embarrassment of the man who knew he was hunted. “Do you think Mr. Marston receives only one letter by messenger in a morning? Look here, my man, you were in here yesterday, and I look on you as a suspicious character. You cannot see Mr. Marston on any such excuse. Get out of that door inside of one minute or I'll send in a police call!”