Mayo kept on walking and did not reply. He had been pondering on the question of what to do with this new “elephant” on his hands. In a way, this stranger was an unwieldy proposition to handle in conjunction with the problem of the Conomo.
“Just understand that I don't give a hoot in a scuttlebutt if you do turn me over to the police,” pursued the man. “I'm going to be taken care of. So will you! You'll be tied up! Courts like to have chief witnesses attend strictly to the job.”
The young man had only a sailor's vague knowledge of the procedure of courts of law; but that knowledge and considerable hearsay had convinced him that law was lagging, exacting, and overbearing.
All his time, his best efforts, his presence were needed in the gigantic task he had undertaken at Razee. To allow himself to be mired in a law scrape together with this person, even in criminal prosecution of the man, surely meant delay, along with repeated interruption of his work, if not its abandonment for a time.
“Where's your boss?” he demanded, stopping in front of the prisoner.
“Name, please?”
“Don't try to bluff me. Fogg, I mean!”
“You'll probably find Mr. Fogg at the Nicholas Hotel.”
“I'm going to walk you up there. If you try to run away—”
“Run your Aunt Huldah! Piff, son! Now you're showing sense. Take me to Mr. Fogg. You'll be shown a few things.”