“How deft and wonderful!” I whispered. “It takes a good lawyer to keep
up with him.”
The man was on his way to Italy for another whack at Norris, and I had
been thinking that he was broke. He would resume his philanthropic rôle
in Italy and probably scare Norris to death. He had, of course, read
that fool item in some paper. There was but one thing for me to do: I
must get there first and meet him in the corridor of the Grand Hotel
upon his arrival. Fortunately, my business was pretty well cleaned up in
preparation for a long rest of which we had been talking.
I telephoned to Betsey that we should probably go abroad that night and
that she must get her trunks packed and on the way to the city as soon
as possible.
“But my summer clothes are not ready!” she exclaimed.
“Never mind clothes,” I answered. “Breech-cloths will do until we can
get to Europe, and there's any amount of clothing for sale on the other
side of the pond. Chuck some things into a couple of trunks and stamp
'em down and come on. We'll meet here at six.”
Then I thought of my talk with Gwendolyn, and telephoned to young Forbes
and told him that I was going to Italy, and asked:
“Any message to send?”
“Sure,” said he. “I'll come down to see you.”
“We dine at seven,” I said.
“Put on a plate for me,” he requested.
I had scarcely hung up the receiver when the bell rang and my secretary
notified me that he had engaged a good room on the _Toltec_, and would
be at my hotel in twenty minutes.
I went down to the office and wrote a cablegram to Norris, in which I
said that we were going over to see the country and would call on him
within ten days.
To pay the charges I took out my pocket-book. There was no money in it.
What had happened to me? There had been two one-hundred-dollar bills in
the book when I had paid for last evening's dinner; now it held nothing
but a slip of paper neatly folded. I opened it and read these words
written with a pencil:
_Thanks. This is the last call. M._
Then I remembered that yesterday's trousers had been hanging in the
bath-room with my money in the right-hand pocket when Muggs was there. I
had got the book and taken it with me when I went for a walk.
“He may be a busted philanthropist, but he's not a busted thief,” I
mused.