The tall young man was going to gaol!

CHAPTER VII

THE THREE GUARDIANS

The anti-climax had struck the Hotel Tirol some hours before it came upon Brock and Miss Fowler.  It seems that Githens had gone first to the big hostelry in quest of light on the very puzzling dilemma in which he found himself involved.  Inquiries at the office only served to stir up a grave commotion among the clerks and managers, all of whom vociferously maintained that the hotel was entirely blameless if any deception had been practised.  The Tirol did not tolerate anything that savoured of the scandalous; the Tirol was a respectable house; the Tirol was ever careful, always rigid in the protection of its good name; and so on and so forth at great length and with great precision.  But Mr. Githens had two officers with him, and he demanded the person of the man calling himself Roxbury Medcroft.  The principal bank in the city was also represented in the company of investigators.  Likewise there was a laconic gentleman from the British office.

Mr. Medcroft was out.  Then, they agreed, it was necessary to see Mrs. Medcroft, or the lady representing herself to be such.  Mr. Githens was permitted to go to her rooms in company with the manager of the hotel.  What transpired in those rooms during the next fifteen minutes would be quite impossible to narrate short of an entire volume.  Edith promptly collapsed.  Subsequently she became hysterical.  She begged for time, and, getting it, proceeded to threaten every one with prosecution.

“I am Mrs. Medcroft!” she declared piteously.  “Where is the American consul?  I demand the American consul!”

“What has the American government to do with it?” gruffly demanded Mr. Githens.

“Mr.—­Mr.—­the gentleman whom you accuse is an American citizen!” she stammered.

“Oho!  Then he is not an Englishman?”

“I refuse to answer your questions.  You are impertinent.  I ask you, sir, as the manager of this hotel, to eject this man from my rooms.”  The manager smiled blandly and did not eject the man.

“But, madam,” he said, “we have a right to know who and what you are.  If Mr. Medcroft is in London, this gentleman surely cannot be he, the real Mr. Medcroft.  We must have an explanation.”

“I’ll—­I will explain everything to-morrow.  Oh, by the way, is there a telegram for me in the office?  There must be.  I’ve been expecting it all day.  I telegraphed to London for it.”

“There is no telegram down there, madam.”

At this juncture Mr. Odell-Carney appeared on the scene, uninvited but welcome.

“Wot’s all this?” he demanded sternly.  Everybody proceeded at once to tell him.  Somehow he got the drift of the story.  “Get out—­all of you!” he said.  “I stand sponsor for Mrs. Medcroft.  She is Mrs. Medcroft, hang you, sir.  If you come around here bothering her again, I’ll have the law upon you.  The Medcrofts are English citizens and—­”