Jet was on the point of handing this odd acting fellow the slip of paper that it might be signed according to the rules of the office, but before he could so much as take it from his pocket the man had disappeared among the throng.
"I suppose it's all right," he said in a tone of perplexity, "but I wish people would let a fellow do as the boss insists upon."
There was no time for delay if he intended to return within the ten minutes as had been promised, and he hurried away, arriving at the saloon only to be told by the bartender that the gentlemen had left some time previous.
"What am I to do with this?" and Jet held up the paper parcel.
"They said you was to go to this number on the Bowery. I reckon it's one of them cheap lodging houses."
Jet took the card which was held toward him, and, stopping only long enough to read the written words and number, hurried off once more.
This last address was, as the barkeeper had suggested, a small hotel, and on ascending the stairs to the tiny apartment called by courtesy "the office," found the tall man awaiting his arrival.
"I thought you was a boy who didn't do any loafing," the gentleman said gruffly.
"I haven't stopped a minute."
"Who did you hang around chinning with?"