Part 15 (1/2)

”No, sir; I don't intend to lose sight of you, Mr. ah--Brockway,” he quavered; and he hung at the pa.s.senger agent's elbow while the latter was marshalling the party for the descent on the breakfast-room, a process which vocalized itself thus:

_Brockway_, handing the ladies in the debarking procession down the steps of the car: ”Breakfast is ready in the dining-room. Special tables reserved for this party. Wait, and we'll all go in together. Leave your hand-baggage with the porter, unless it's something you will need during the day. Take your time; you have thirty minutes before the train leaves for Clear Creek Canyon and the Loop.”

_Chorus of the Personally Conducted:_

”How long did you say we'd have?”

”What are they going to do with our car while we're gone?”

”Say, Mr. Pa.s.senger Agent, are you sure the baggage will be safe if we leave it with the porter?”

”What time have you now?”

”How far is it over to those mountains?”

”Oh, Mr. Brockway; won't this be a good chance to see if my trunk was put on the train with the others?”

”Say; what time did you say that Clear Creek Canyon train leaves?”

_Brockway_, answering the last question because the inquirer happens to be nearest at hand: ”Eight o'clock.”

_The Querist_, with his watch (which he has omitted to set back to mountain time) in his hand: ”Eight o'clock? Then it's gone--it's half-past eight now! Look here.”

_Brockway_, who is vainly endeavoring to persuade an elderly maiden lady to leave her canary in charge of the porter during the day: ”That is central time you have, Mr. Tucker; mountain time is one hour slower.

Careful, Mr. Perkins; let me take your grip. You won't need it to-day.”

_The Elderly Maiden Lady:_ ”Now, Mr. Brockway, are you _sure_ it'll be perfectly safe to leave d.i.c.ky with the porter?”

_Mr. Somers, sotto voce_ in Brockway's ear: ”Hang d.i.c.ky! Let's go to breakfast.”

_The Gadfly:_ ”Mr. ah--Brockway, you will oblige me by sitting at my table. I don't ah--purpose to lose sight of you, sir.”

_Brockway_, to the porter: ”All out, John?”

_The Porter_, with the cavernous smile of his kind: ”All out, sah.”

_Brockway_, sandwiching himself between two of the unescorted ladies: ”All aboard for the dining-room!”

So much Harry Quatremain, standing aloof, saw and heard, and was minded to go back to President Vennor and make his report accordingly. But the yard crew, already busily dismembering the ”Flying Kestrel,” whipped the Tadmor and the private car out into the yard, and the secretary was left standing in the unquiet crowd.

Having nothing better to do, he sauntered across to the depot, not intending to spy further upon the pa.s.senger agent, but rather cudgelling his brain to devise some pretext upon which he could safely lie to the President and so appease his self-respect. The pretext did not suggest itself; and after looking into the dining-room, where he saw Brockway and his thirty-odd in one corner, and the Burtons, whom he knew by sight, in another, he strolled out to the end of the building where the yard-crew was switching the Naught-fifty to its place on the short spur.

The President was standing on the front platform; and Quatremain, having no plausible falsehood ready, reported the simple fact.

”Very good,” said his employer. ”Now go back and keep your eye on him; and, at precisely five minutes of eight, come and tell me where he is and what he is doing.”

Quatremain turned on his heel and swore a clerkly oath, well smothered, to the effect that he would do nothing of the sort. It was not the first time the President had used him as a private detective, but, happily, use had not yet dulled his reluctance. None the less, he went back to the door of the dining-room and waited, and while he tarried curiosity came to keep wrath company. What was afoot that the President should be so anxious about the movements of the pa.s.senger agent? The secretary could not guess, but he determined to find out.

Three minutes before Quatremain's time-limit expired, Brockway, followed closely by a slope-shouldered old gentleman with close-set eyes, came out with Burton. He nodded to the secretary and kept on talking to the general agent. Quatremain could scarcely help overhearing.

”You can introduce yourself,” he was saying; ”there isn't time for any formalities. You'll find them docile enough--they haven't any kick coming with you, you know--and I'll be here to take them off your hands when you get back. No, I'll not go over to the train, unless you want me to; I'm going to the telegraph office with Mr. Jordan here, and then up-town to see our general agent about his ticket. Good-by, old man; and thank you again.”