“Fleming!” repeated Joe with quickened interest. “What’s that fellow doing here? I thought he hung out in New York.”
“That’s what I want to know,” replied Jim. “Wherever that fellow is, there’s apt to be dirty work brewing. And the frightened look that came into his eyes when he saw me, and the way he hurried past me, made me uneasy. He acted as if he’d been up to something. I don’t like the idea of a pal of Braxton being in the same hotel with us.”
“I don’t care much for it myself,” answered Joe. “Still, a hotel is open to anybody, and this is one of the most popular ones in the city. It isn’t especially surprising that you should happen to run across him.”
“Not surprising perhaps, but unpleasant just the same,” responded Jim. “It leaves a bad taste in my mouth.”
“Well,” laughed Joe, “take the bad taste out with a glass of this lemonade you sent up. It isn’t very good—it has a bad taste of its own—but it will cool you off.”
He raised his glass to his mouth as he spoke. But in an instant Jim was on his feet and knocked the glass from his hand. It fell on the floor and splintered in many pieces.
Joe looked at him in open-eyed amazement, too astonished to speak.
“Don’t touch the stuff!” cried Jim. “What do you mean by saying I sent it up?”
“Didn’t you?” asked Joe. “The bellboy said he had been told to bring it to me, and as I hadn’t ordered it, I jumped to the conclusion that you had.”