“A cunnin’ hiding-place,” said Nicholson. “Hunted all through his—his effects, as ordered, finding nothing. Never thought of looking in his coat. Never would have thought. Only we see it hanging in the glory hole.”
That was where Clement Seadon had seen it hanging last—in the glory hole when he had dodged in there for cover. He smiled.
“My oath!” burst out the evil-faced steward, seeing that smile. “My oath—in my coat pocket. You put it there.”
He stared at Clement in hate. Clement’s smile was even sweeter.
“Of course I put it there.” And only he and the steward knew that he was telling the truth. The others merely appreciated his sarcasm.
“That settles that,” said Captain Heavy. “Nicholson, take this brute out, and keep him safe until the police come aboard. Seadon, I can’t tell you how mad I am that all this has happened. It’s infamous.... If it’s any consolation, I’ll promise you that this scoundrel will be made to suffer in full....”
But the rest doesn’t matter, nor do the voluble apologies of the lady of the tiara matter. All that matters is that Clement Seadon left the Empress for the Château Frontenac, just about the time that the police went on board her to arrest and convey the steward to prison.
And in the lobby of the Château Frontenac, the first person he saw was the mountain of a man—Mr. Neuburg.
Mr. Neuburg was standing facing the door, and he started perceptibly as Clement came into the hotel. He betrayed himself by a quick stride forward and a muttered oath.
Clement smiled. He said cheerfully, “Oh, were you expecting the other fellow? Sorry. He took my place—at the last minute. You’ll know where to find him, I think—or, anyhow, the first policeman will direct you——”