"Who wants me?" asked Matt.
"A young woman—and she says she's in a hurry."
Matt was puzzled. He did not know any young ladies in New Orleans, and couldn't imagine why one should come to the hotel and ask for him.
"I'll go right up," said he—and immediately took the first step into a snare that had been laid for him.
[CHAPTER III.]
HURRY-UP ORDERS.
When Matt entered the bare little room on the second floor which served as a public parlor for the hotel, a girl of sixteen or seventeen arose to meet him. She had black hair and eyes, was well dressed, and looked like a Spanish señorita.
"Motor Matt?" she asked, stepping toward him with an engaging smile.
"My name," he answered.