"Good morning," said Clancy curtly, as he scrutinized the face of the player for signs of a debauch and found the blue eyes clear and fresh.
"You wanted to see me?" inquired McCarthy, thrown a little off his easy bearing.
"Yes—where were you last night?"
"I—in my room"—he suddenly remembered the excursion with Swanson. "I was out for a while," he concluded lamely.
"Were you in the café of the Metropolis Hotel late?"
"Yes," confessed McCarthy, bridling at the tone employed by the manager. "I was in there."
"Drinking?"
"Yes—lemonade."
"Nothing stronger?"
"No."