Montague stood for a moment, wondering; then he followed. Bates went to a corner of the room and seated himself. Montague joined him.
The reporter darted a quick glance about, then began hastily: “Excuse me, Mr. Montague, I didn't want anyone to see us talking. I want to ask you to do me a favour.”
“What is it?”
“I'm running down a story. It is something very important. I can't explain it to you now, but I want to get a certain room in this hotel. You have an opportunity to do me the service of a lifetime. I'll explain it to you as soon as we are alone.”
“What do you want me to do?” asked Montague.
“I want to rent room four hundred and seven,” said Bates. “If I can't get four hundred and seven, I want five hundred and seven, or six hundred and seven. I daren't ask for it myself, because the clerk knows me. But he'll let you have it.”
“But how shall I ask for it?” said Montague.
“Just ask,” said Bates; “it will be all right.”
Montague looked at him. He could see that his friend was labouring under great excitement.
“Please! please!” he whispered, putting his hand on Montague's arm. And Montague said, “All right.”