[CHAPTER VI]
PHIL’S SAD PREDICAMENT
As Phil stood in front of the hotel desk striving to unclasp the bewildering safety-pins that held his pocket-book so firmly a heavy hand was laid on his shoulder, and a stern voice asked if he was Philip Ryder.
“Yes, that is my name,” replied Phil, looking around inquiringly.
“Very well,” said the owner of the voice; “then I shall have to ask you to come with me.”
“I haven’t time,” replied the lad, “and, besides, I wouldn’t go anywhere in a strange city at this hour of night with a person whom I do not know.”
“I guess you’ll come,” retorted the man, with a grim smile, “when I inform you that I am an officer with a warrant for your arrest, and that you are wanted at the central police station.”
“Nonsense!” cried Phil, stoutly; “you’ve made some mistake and got hold of the wrong party. I haven’t done anything to be arrested for. I’m an American citizen on my way to Alaska, and I’ve only barely time to catch the steamer now. So I must request you not to detain me any longer with this foolishness, or you may have cause to regret having done so.”
“I’ll risk it,” was the self-contained reply, “and I doubt very much if you will start for Alaska to-night, or for some nights to come. You know me,” he added, turning to the hotel clerk, who was regarding this scene as coolly as though it were nothing unusual to him, and as though the heart of the lad who a minute before had been so buoyant with hope and happiness were not near to breaking with an undefined agony of apprehension.