“Not in the least, my dear sir—not in the least. And now let me tell you what motive has prompted me—a stranger—to intrude myself upon you.”
“Oh, no intrusion, sir.”
“Thank you—thank you a thousand times for saying so. But in a word, I wish to obtain your autograph.”
“I fear,” replied the ex-mayor, “that it is scarcely worth the giving.”
“Let me judge of that, Mr. Basswood. I have already secured the autographs of some of the most distinguished men of our country, including the President and his Cabinet. I wish to place your autograph in that collection of celebrities.”
“Well, you are welcome,” said the ex-mayor, secretly tickled to be thought of such importance.
“Please write your name here,” went on the stranger, and produced a stylographic pen and a small sheet of paper, and, without hesitation, Sinclair Basswood complied with the request. In finishing up with a flourish he made a small blot on the edge of the sheet.
“That’s too bad,” he said, in a disappointed tone.
“Oh, I can easily remove that, sir,” said the stranger. “Very much obliged, sir, for your kindness. I shall prize the autograph exceedingly.” And then, before Sinclair Basswood could question him regarding his name, he bowed and withdrew.
The man who had obtained the autograph was just passing through the hotel when he met Frank.