"But why eight-thirty?" demanded the latter as soon as he understood that it had been the Mayor. "Man alive, we ought to be gone by then! What are we to do with the next twenty minutes? You must have lost your head. Call him again. Call the desk and have him paged and told to come right up."
Without a word Merriam turned to the telephone again and asked for the desk.
But a moment later he gave Philip Rockwell one of the major surprises of the latter's life. For what he said was:
"Please page Mrs. George Norman, with the message that Senator Norman would like to see her right away in their rooms. Repeat that, please.--That's right. Thank you!"
"What in hell!" cried Rockwell, belatedly released by the click of the receiver from a paralysis of astonishment.
Merriam picked up his cigar, walked back to the easy chair, and seated himself comfortably. He was excited now to the point of a quite theatrical composure.
"Nothing in hell," he said. "Quite the contrary, in fact. I want to have a few minutes' conversation with Mrs. Norman. That's all."
"See here!" said Rockwell. "What funny business is this? I won't have----"
"Won't you? All right. Just as you say. If you don't like the way I'm playing my part, I'll drop it and walk right out of that door. I have a ticket for the theater to-night. I can still be in time."
The other man stared and gulped. It was hard for him to realise that this young cub was master of the situation, and not he, Rockwell.