“Gee! I wish they had done their talking there,” he said to himself during the lull in the kitchen. “This may leave me dead lame as to the exact truth—as lame as I’ll be after lying so long on this board. It’s like being on a rack.”
Patsy had not long to wait, however, before Gammon returned to the kitchen. Scarce ten minutes had passed, and the English crook then was followed by a man with silvery-gray hair and a flowing beard.
Patsy instantly recognized him, nevertheless.
“Great guns!” he exclaimed mentally. “What’s on, now? Floyd is going out in disguise. Gee! had I better try to follow him?”
Floyd already had on his street garments, and brief consideration convinced Patsy that he could not possibly get down from his perilous perch in time to overtake him.
For Floyd lingered only to say a few words quietly to Hogan, and he then turned sharp on his heel and departed.
Gammon remained, however, and took the chair the other had vacated.
Floyd had gone, of course, to keep the appointment as Mr. Pimlico.
Lucy Devoll, frowning, began to question Gammon about it, and so sharp and insistent were her inquiries that he finally proceeded to tell them of the exact situation.
Patsy listened exultantly—but it was of brief duration.