the swinging door, "Wanted: a Night Porter;" and this one chance of
employment determined his return.
When he again presented himself at the window the clerk motioned him to
step inside through a lifted rail. Here he found himself confronted by
the clerk and another man, distinguished by a certain air of authority,
a keen gray eye, and singularly compressed lips set in a closely clipped
beard. The clerk indicated him deferentially but briefly--everybody
was astonishingly brief and businesslike there--as the president. The
president absorbed and possessed Randolph with eyes that never seemed
to leave him. Then leaning back against the counter, which he lightly
grasped with both hands, he said: "We've sent to the Niantic Hotel to
inquire about your man. He ordered his room by letter, giving no name.
He arrived there on time last night, slept there, and has occupied the
room No. 74 ever since. WE don't know him from Adam, but"--his eyes
never left Randolph's--"from the description the landlord gave our
clerk, you're the man himself."
For an instant Randolph flushed crimson. The natural mistake of
the landlord flashed upon him, his own stupidity in seeking this
information, the suspicious predicament in which he was now placed, and
the necessity of telling the whole truth. But the president's eye was at
once a threat and an invitation. He felt himself becoming suddenly cool,
and, with a business brevity equal to their own, said:--
"I was looking for work last night on the wharf. He employed me to carry
his bag to the hotel, saying I was to wait for him. I have waited since
nine o'clock last night in his room, and he has not come."
"What are you in such a d----d hurry for? He's trusted you; can't you
trust him? You've got his bag?" returned the president.
Randolph was silent for a moment. "I want to know what to do with it,"
he said.
"Hang on to it. What's in it?"
"Some clothes and a purse containing about seventy dollars."
"That ought to pay you for carrying it and storage afterward," said the
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