“Orders from whom, sir?”
“Condemn it all, orders from men who can protect me by saying one word! I ain't going to stand all this riddle-come-ree business! Flat down, now, Mr. Fogg, what say?”
“Not a word! If what this fellow says is true, you ought to be in jail.”
“The advice is good. He'll be there very soon,” declared Mayo, starting for the telephone. Fogg replaced his eye-glasses and began to read.
“I'm ready to blow up!” warned the man. He hurried across the room and guarded the telephone with outspread arms.
“Both of you will be sorry if the police are called,” he cried. To Mayo, who was close to him, he mumbled, “Damn him, if he dumps me like this you're going to be the winner!”
There was so much reality in the man's rancor that Mayo was impressed and seized upon the idea which came to him.
“We'll test your friend,” he whispered, clutching the man, and making pretense of a struggle. “I'll fake a call. Keep wrestling.”
Fogg gave only indifferent attention to the affair in the corner of the room.
With one hand holding down the receiver-arm Mayo called; he was pushed about violently, but managed to say: “Desk? Call police to hotel—lobby—at once!”