“Hello! The chief is up!” exclaimed Patsy. “Wonder he didn’t call us.”
He opened the door into the hall—only to meet Phillips, who had his hand up to knock. He looked heavy and disgruntled, like the other two.
Before Patsy could speak, the valet pushed him gently back into the room and shut the door.
“We should not have drunk that coffee,” began Phillips. “Let me see how the prince is.”
He looked into Nick Carter’s bedroom and started as he saw that he was not there. Then he slipped over to the bed and examined it carefully about half a minute.
With a low exclamation he picked up from the bed-clothing a small meerschaum cigarette holder and took it over to the window to look at it closer.
“What have you got there?” asked Chick.
Phillips put the article into Chick’s hand and shrugged his shoulders. Chick passed the holder to Patsy.
“Whose is it?” asked Patsy. “It’s an old-timer, all right.”
“Jason!”