“She is to sail at ten o’clock,” remarked Morlein. “It’s half past nine now. There won’t be much time.”
“Of course not. That’s why I want you to phone without delay. Tell them I will try to be there at ten o’clock. If I am a little late, they are to hold the ship for me.”
“All right, sir,” replied Morlein, as he turned to the telephone on his desk.
Rayne took a seat and lighted one of the cigars that he took from Portersham’s cigar case, which he had found in his pocket.
The Apache wanted a smoke. Even if he had not, most likely he would have taken out the case. It would be one of the little proofs of his identity which might impress Henry Morlein in case he were suspicious.
The venturesome scoundrel listened to one end of the telephonic conversation between his private secretary and the steamship agent at the wharf.
He gathered, from Morlein’s replies, that the agent was objecting to holding the Spangled Star for any one, even the acting governor of Porto Rico. But Morlein shut him off sharply on that, telling him that those were Mr. Portersham’s orders, and they had to be obeyed.
John Garrison Rayne grinned slightly behind his cigar. He was thinking how different everything would be if either Morlein or the steamship agent were to find out who this supposed Jabez Portersham really was.
“All right, sir,” observed Morlein, at last, as he hung up the receiver. “They are reserving stateroom B for you on the upper deck. There is a suite of two rooms and bath. I hope you will have a pleasant trip. The steamer goes right through to New York. That will be your quickest route to Washington.”
“I know that,” answered Rayne. “It will suit me, all right. I may have to stay over in New York for an hour or two.”