“Come in here, Bert. I want to speak with you,” said Mellish.
When they were alone Mellish turned to him.
“I suppose Pony didn’t tell you where the money is to come from?”
“No, he told you. That was enough for me.”
“Well, there’s no reason why you should not know now. I promised silence till the game was finished. He’s insured his life for $100,000 and is going to commit suicide so that you may be paid.”
“My God!” cried Bert, aghast. “Why did you let the game go on?”
“I tried to stop it, but I had given my word and you——”
“Well, don’t let us stand chattering here. He’s at the Metropolitan, isn’t he? Then come along. Hurry into your coat.”
Mellish knew the number of Rowell’s room and so no time was lost in the hotel office with inquiries. He tried the door, but, as he expected, it was locked.
“Who’s that?” cried a voice within.