"What?" cried Locke, leaping nervously from his chair. "Don't do that.
I want to get out of here."
"Not a bit like it." Kirk's eyes were sparkling. "We'll give this fellow the third degree and find out who his pals are."
"Grand idea!" Higgins seconded with enthusiasm. "Grand!"
"Hold on! I can't do that. I've got to sail at ten o'clock. I don't dare get into trouble, don't you understand? It's important." Locke seemed in an extraordinary panic.
"Oh, we'll see that you catch your boat all right," Kirk assured him; and then before the other could interfere he rang for the waiter.
"Give that chap your coat and apron," he ordered, when the attendant answered, "and when I ring next send him up. Pass the word to Padden and the others not to notice any little disturbance. I'll answer for results."
"I'm going to get out," cried the man from St. Louis. "He mustn't see me."
"He'll see you sure if you leave now. You'll have to pass him. Stick here. We'll have some fun."
The white-faced man sank back into his chair, while Anthony directed sharply:
"Now, gentlemen, be seated. Here, Locke, your back to the door—your face looks like a chalk-mine. There! Now don't be so nervous—we'll cure this fellow's ambition as a gin-slinger. I'll change names with you for a minute. Now, Ringold, go ahead with your story." Then, as the giant took up his tale again: "Listen to him, fellows; look pleasant, please. Remember you're not sitting up with a corpse. A little more ginger, Ringie. Good!" He pushed the button twice, and a moment Later the door opened quietly to admit a medium-sized man in white coat and apron.