try to give him the slip that night, so he asked me to stay around the private entrance there while he ran across the street and got something to eat. It seemed a fair presumption that, as he had gone there with a lady, they would dine leisurely, and Arnold would have plenty of time to get back."
"What about your own dinner?" I asked curiously.
"Sir," he said pompously, "I have given you a wrong estimate of Wilson Budd Hotchkiss if you think that a question of dinner would even obtrude itself on his mind at such a time as this."
He was a frail little man, and to-night he looked pale with heat and over-exertion.
"Did you have any luncheon?" I asked.
He was somewhat embarrassed at that.
"I—really, Mr. Blakeley, the events of the day were so engrossing—"
"Well," I said, "I'm not going to see you drop on the floor from exhaustion. Just wait a minute."
I went back to the pantry, only to be confronted with rows of locked doors and empty
