CHAPTER II.
THE WAITER HAS A WIFE.
The waiter remained outside the window until he heard Atherton leave the room, then he stole back to number twenty-seven, left things exactly as he had found them, and descended to the waiters’ room, where he changed to street attire.
Ten minutes later he left the premises, and at the end of half an hour he let himself into a modest little flat in a “model” tenement house on East Seventy-seventh Street, near the river.
Here he proceeded to do other things which were out of the ordinary for a club waiter.
For instance, he changed his clothes once more, and, after he had done so, he loaded a revolver and stowed it away in one of his pockets. He put a fresh battery into an electric flash light, and slipped that into another pocket.
He next went down to a room in the basement, in which a motor cycle was stored, and he spent half an hour in pumping up the tires, tinkering with the lamp, oiling the bearings, filling the tank, and generally putting the machine in order for a run.
Finally he returned to the little sitting room, set out a frugal supper for two, consisting of cold beef and potato salad from a delicatessen store, bread and cheese, and a bottle of first-class claret—the last named being from the cellars of the Marmawell.[Pg 6]
When all these preparations were completed, he lighted a pipe and consulted his watch.
“Half past nine,” he mused. “I needn’t start for the theater for another hour yet.”
He opened a black leather case and drew out a well-worn mandolin. Dropping into an easy-chair, he started to play the instrument in a fashion which proved that he was both a passionate lover of music and a capable performer.