Minot whistled. Here was a new twist for the drama to take.
At about the same time that Minot received his message, a similar slip of yellow paper was put into the hands of Lord Harrowby. Three times he read it, his eyes staring, his cheeks flushed.
Then he fled to his rooms. The elevator was not quick enough; he sped up the stairs. Once in his suite he dragged out the nearest traveling-bag and began to pack like a mad man.
Mr. Minot was finishing a leisurely and lonely dinner about an hour later when Jack Paddock ran up to his table. Mr. Paddock's usual calm was sadly ruffled.
"Dick," he cried, "here's news for you. I met Lord Harrowby sliding out a side door with a suit-case just now."
Minot leaped to his feet.
"What does that mean?" he wondered aloud.
"Mean?" answered Mr. Paddock. "It means just one thing. Old George had the right dope. Harrowby is a fake. He's making his get-away."
Minot threw down his napkin.
