“Well, I guess we’d just better let him alone.”
“Sure. He won’t thank us for butting in, and if he wants any help he knows we’ll give it to him.”
“Sure.”
Thereupon the two chums had gone off nutting again, leaving Bob Dexter to his own devices.
Taking advantage of the fact that there were few late arrivals in the Mansion House, which, unlike the Railroad hotel, did not keep open all night, Bob made his entry as an unregistered guest in his little room about two o’clock one morning. Mr. Beel was the only one around at the time.
“Good luck to you, Bob,” the proprietor had said, as he watched the lad enter his room quietly. “He’s in there,” and he motioned to the apartment of Jolly Bill and his wooden leg.
Bob’s first activity, after settling himself, was to mount on a chair and examine, as best he could in the feeble light of one electric bulb in his room, the transom over the door between his apartment and that of Jolly Bill.
At one time these two rooms had formed part of a suite, but when there was little call except for single rooms, the transom had been closed and painted black to prevent surreptitious views from one room to the other.
“And the paint’s on my side,” exclaimed Bob. “That makes it easier. I’ll scrape a peep-hole in the morning, after Jolly Bill goes out.”
Bob was concentrating his efforts and suspicions on this wooden-legged sailor now, since all efforts to trace the man with the iron hook, and his companion, had failed.