Rand, stupefied by this sudden intrusion upon his secret by an utter stranger, lost what little fight there was left in him, and at least seemed to assent to Holmes's proposition. The latter linked arms with him, and in a few minutes we walked into the famous hostelry just as if we were three friends, bent only upon having a pleasant chat over a café table.
"What'll you have, Mr. Rand?" asked Holmes, suavely. "I'm elected for the
Glengarry special, with a little carbonic on the side."
"Same," said Rand, laconically.
"Sandwich with it?" asked Holmes. "You'd better."
"Oh, I can't eat anything," began Rand. "I—"
"Bring us some sandwiches, waiter," said Holmes. "Two Glengarry special, a syphon of carbonic, and—Jenkins, what's yours?"
The calmness and the cheek of the fellow!
"I'm not in on this at all," I retorted, angered by Holmes's use of my name.
"And I want Mr. Rand to understand—"
"Oh, tutt!" ejaculated Holmes. "He knows that. Mr. Rand, my friend Jenkins has no connection with this enterprise of mine, and he's done his level best to dissuade me from holding you up so summarily. All he's along for is to write the thing up for—"
"The newspapers?" cried Rand, now thoroughly frightened.