“Oh—I—I go—but I promise you, Senor Dexter—I say I come to make monkey do tricks at your party—I play——”
“You’ve played enough—you’ve earned your money,” said Bob with a smile. “Better go back. That man with the hook—he’s anxious to see you. Who is he? He says his name is Dauber.”
“He is—one devil!” hissed the Italian, as, shouldering his instrument, and calling to his monkey, he hurried out.
“There’s going to be trouble there, if I’m any good at guessing,” declared Bob to himself. “And after this party I’m going back to the Railroad House and see what has happened.”
It was early morning when the last guest had gone, and Bob jumped into his flivver, making his way to the Railroad House. Mike Brennan boasted that he never closed, that he had “lost the key,” and couldn’t. Consequently the place was lighted even at the hour of two in the morning.
“What, you back again?” growled Mike, who acted as his own night clerk.
“Yes. Is that Italian here?”
“Who, Pietro and his monkey?”
“Yes.”
“No.”