“If he isn’t in the hotel, he’ll be at the Casino. Shall I ring up his room, sir?”
“No, no. I’ll see him in the morning. It’s too late to go any farther tonight, and I’m rather tired and shaken up. My train was derailed, and we are hours behind time. Give me a decent room. I suppose I can have breakfast at eight o’clock?”
“Any time you like, sir.”
The cab went off, and the inquisitive visitor entered the building. The two men seated behind the palms had not uttered a syllable while the foregoing conclave was in progress.
“Mr. Francis Willard, I presume?” murmured Dacre, when the retreating footsteps had died away.
“Yes,” said Power.
“Three days ahead of the time stated in his letter, I presume further.”
“That must be so.”
“Foxy. He fits your description. What are you going to do now?”
“Finish my yarn, if I am not wearying you, and leave Newport at seven A.M. instead of nine-ten. The fox broke cover just a little too soon.”