"What does this mean?" he asked.
"That's what they all say," grunted Huntley. Come here, my boy. Say, you're pretty wet. And shivering! Better have a warm bath and a drink. Turn around, please. Ah—"
With practised fingers the detective explored rapidly Mr. Minot's person and pockets. The victim of the search stood limp, helpless. What could he do? There was no escape. It was all up now—for whatever reason they desired Chain Lightning's Collar, they could not fail to have it in another minute.
Side pockets—trousers pockets—now! The inner coat pocket! Its contents were in the detective's hand. Minot stared down. A little gasp escaped him.
The envelope that held Chain Lightning's Collar was not among them!
Two minutes longer Huntley pursued, then with an oath of disappointment he turned to O'Malley.
"Hasn't got it!" he announced.
Minot swept aside the profuse apologies of the hotel detective, and somehow got out of the
