“You did? What does he look like?”
“That’s the trouble—I didn’t see him. I heard him talk, and he had the same old voice, that squeaky-roar. He was with another man, and they came in here, we think. You didn’t see them, did you?”
“I don’t know,” replied Gunseyt inconsequentially. “Just came in myself. I thought I saw one or two men enter the cafe a few minutes ago, but I guess they passed through. Ask the waiters.”
“I guess it isn’t worth while,” said Guy to his companion as he and Glennon walked away. “I’ve lost my man, and I may as well give up. They probably heard or saw us while we were listening and ducked when we left. If that’s the case, they wouldn’t be likely to stop here.”
Glennon was not sufficiently interested to urge further search, and Guy proposed that they play a set in the tennis courts. The older boy agreed and went to his stateroom for his racket. Guy had none and applied for one belonging to the steamer.
“This is a peach of a racket,” Carl remarked as he returned with the object thus referred to. “It was given to me by a man in London. He must have paid a fancy price for it. Your friend Gunseyt nearly had a fit over it yesterday.”
“It must be a dandy to affect him so,” said Guy, examining the object of interest. “He seldom reaches the boiling over anything.”
“Oh, it wasn’t as bad as that. I didn’t mean he kicked the deck overhead. But he said I was mighty lucky to have a friend like Smithers.”
“Smithers! Who’s he?”
“The man who gave me the racket.”