Dave was very much disturbed and disappointed. There could be no doubt that the boy thief had escaped by the window route. It would probably be in vain to try to follow him now. Dave dashed out into the corridor and ran down the stairs, not waiting for the elevator.
The clerk was talking to a guest, polite and imperturbable. He simply inclined his head as Dave burst forth:
“The boy in 47.”
“Ah, yes!” answered the hotel clerk.
“Who is he?”
The clerk turned the big register around, flipped back a page or two, and set his finger on a name.
Dave read it, and nearly fell down where he stood. He had never been so startled and dumbfounded in his life. The name on the register, written in a big, sprawling hand was——
“Dave Dashaway!”
Dave grasped the marble counter slab for support with both hands. He gasped and started.
“My name!” he exclaimed. “Why, what does this mean?”