“Mr. Drexel?” the young fellow called in a cautious voice.
Startled, Drexel pivoted about. His interceptor was perhaps nineteen or twenty, squat of build and very poorly dressed.
“See here—what do you want?”
“Don’t go back to the Metropole.”
“Why?”
“You’ll be arrested.”
This warning might be intended as a service, and again it might be a new trap. “How do you know?” Drexel asked suspiciously.
“I, and others, have been on the watch for two hours.”
“What for?”
“To warn you. We were afraid you might not understand your danger and might try to come back.”