"But he'll be caught," the man said confidently. "It is one of the hardest things in the world for a man to be lost in this world of rapid communication. His description has been wired all over the country. The police in every city in the land will have their eyes open. Sooner or later--and the chances are that it will be sooner--some one will tap him on the shoulder and say, 'You're wanted, Mr. Clyde.' And he'll forget himself and answer to the name. They all do it. Sooner or later."
He wagged his head wisely.
"That's so," chimed in the others, and story after story was told of the unconscious way in which men in hiding would betray themselves. It was entertaining enough, but I was on needles to have them go, and I got rid of them as soon as I could. I waited until I saw them actually leave the building before I dared let Clyde out of the bedroom. He came out smiling and undisturbed.
"Are your prophetic friends safely out of the way?" he asked.
"All gone. How in the name of mystery did you get in here?"
"You look more surprised than hospitable!"
"And more anxious than either, I dare say, if my looks show my feelings. How are you going to get away?"
"Walk away. And very soon. But first, I wonder if you could get me something to eat. Absurd how dependent we civilized beings are on our meals! There may be more serious matters to be considered, but at present my chief anxiety is as to whether you happen to have a box of crackers and a piece of cheese in your rooms."
"We'll do better than that," I answered, and I promptly telephoned to a near-by restaurant for a substantial meal.
"Now, while we are waiting, tell me how you got in," I said.