OM SCATWELL dressed himself with unusual care, rejecting waistcoat after waistcoat which the anxious professor brought. He was a good-looking man of thirty-nine, powerfully built. That he was not in the best of tempers the conciliating attitude of Rosie showed. Even the somber Mr. Featherstone, who never shrunk from an encounter with his superior, made himself scarce.
“What time will you be back, Tom?” asked Rosie.
“Mind your own business,” growled the man,
“Sam and I wanted to know,” said the professor apologetically, “because we have an engagement this afternoon at three, and we shouldn't like to be out when you come in,”
“I am unlikely to be back before three or four,” said Scatwell. “You have all the baggage packed?”
“Every bit of it,” said the professor. “When do you think we shall make the get-away?”
“Don't worry about that,” replied the other. “I'll give you plenty of notice.”
“There's a boat sails to-day?” suggested Rosie.
“We shan't take that. Maybe we'll go to Canada.”
Rosie watched him fussing about, brushing his hair and brushing it again, fixing it at the back, changing and rechanging his cravat.
“Tom,” he said presently, “I'm short of ready money. Could you give me a check?”
“How much do you want?”
“Oh, I don't know,” said the professor in his vague way.
“Well, make up your mind,” growled Scatwell, who stood looking at his watch.
“Are you expecting anybody, Tom?” asked the professor,
The man turned on him in a fury.
“What's worrying you, Rosie?” he snarled. “You're as jumpy as a cat. What the devil do you want to know my business for? You go on like a man who's expecting to be double crossed.”
The professor laughed, a tittering little laugh of amusement.
“Oh, no, Tom, not that,” he said. “That's the last thing one would expect from you. If anybody dared suggest such a thing about you, Tom, I'd—I'd strike him down at my feet.”
“A devil of a lot of striking you'd do,” said Tom contemptuously, “if you want to know. I'm waiting for that dago—there's the bell; show him in here and leave me alone with him.”
He had put on his coat and was surveying himself in a long mirror when the visitor came in.
“Sit down, Guiseppe,” he said in Italian. “You are late.”
“I had to wait for a taxi,” said the other in the same language. “I find it very difficult to have the courage.”
“Courage for what?”
“To call a taxi,” said the man. “I fear they will detect me and say: “Who is this poor Italian man who begs rides in my taxi?”
“You've got the money, haven't you?” said Scatwell. “Now listen. I am taking you away to a grand house in the country. There you will see a lady who will mistake you for somebody else.”
“This is a joke, eh?” demanded the other.
“This is a joke,” said Scatwell grimly.
“What shall I do?”
“You'll sit quiet and say nothing,” answered Tom Scatwell. “You have merely to be seen and no more. If the lady speaks to you, you will say: 'Yes.'”
“Yes,” said the other mincingly in English.
Tom nodded his head satisfied.
“Now, Guiseppe, my car's at the door, and we will go along. While you're riding, keep your face out of sight. You understand, I do not want you to be seen.”
“I understand perfectly, signor,” said the other as he led the way from the room, Scatwell following.
In the lobby the professor was waiting, an ingratiating grin on his face, an open check book in his hand. Scatwell hesitated.
“Can't this wait?” he asked. “How much do you want?”
“Make it a hundred dollars, Tom,” pleaded the professor.
“Fill it in,” said Scatwell, and scrawled his name at the bottom of the check.
The door banged behind him, and presently they heard the whine of his car as it sped on its way. The professor watched the car out of sight, craning his neck through the window; and when it had disappeared he took up the telephone and called a number.
“In twenty-five minutes,” was the message he sent.
He went out into the hall and called: “Sam!”
Mr. Featherstone came immediately.
“What time does that boat leave?” asked the professor.
“At half past eleven,” replied the other.
“Good! We've plenty of time. Have you booked the stateroom?”
“Of course I've booked the stateroom,” said the other, aggrieved. “I booked it with the Boston Agency in the name of Miller and Dore. Here are the tickets.”
He produced a leather pocketbook.
“That's all right,” said the professor quickly. “Now just fill up that blank check.”
“How much shall I make it for?”
“What is his balance?” asked the professor.
“About fifty thousand dollars.”