The manager looked at Mr. Githens and then at the police officer.

“Ahem!  It seems that Herr Grabetz of the police department desires to ask some questions of your party in my presence.  You will understand, sir, that the hotel has been imposed upon by—­by these people.  It seems, also, that the bank insists upon having some light thrown upon the methods by which Mrs. Medcroft secures money on her letter of credit.”

“You are welcome to all that, sir,” declared Mr. Odell-Carney, “but I am interested to know just why my wife and I are brought into this affair.”

“Because you are guests of Mr. Rodney, sir, I regret to state.  We have no complaint against you, sir. You are well known here.  The—­the others are not.  They are—­what you call it?  Humbugs!  It may be that they also have swindled you!”

Mr. Rodney, at this point, leaped to his feet and rushed over to shake his fist in the face of the insulting hotel man.  But Edith Medcroft arose suddenly, like a tragedy queen, and spoke, her clear, determined voice stilling the turbulent spirit of her outraged host.

“One moment, please,” she said.  “This all can be satisfactorily explained.  No wrong has been done.  It will all be cleared up in time.  We—­”

“In time?” interrupted the manager.  “Madam, this is the time.  You are here with a man who is not your husband, yet who purports to be such.”

“It may throw some light on the matter if I announce that the gentleman in question is my affianced husband.”  It was Miss Fowler who spoke.  Every one stared at her as she moved over to Brock’s side.

“If you will look in the office, you will find a telegram there for me,” went on Mrs. Medcroft, pale but absolutely confident.  The manager called out through the door.  Absolute silence reigned while the reply was awaited.

“No telegram for Mrs. Medcroft last night or to-day,” announced the manager sternly, as he glanced through the slim bunch of blue envelopes.  “There are four here for a Mr. Brock, who has not yet arrived in—­”

“Brock!” shouted three voices in one.

A tall man, forgetting his English and his eyeglass, sprang forward and grabbed the telegrams from the manager’s hand.  “Holy mackerel!  Give ’em here!” he shouted.  Two eager, beautiful young women were hanging to his elbows as he ruthlessly broke one of the seals.  “The chump!  It’s from Rox!  They’re all from Rox—­and they are two or three days old!”

Just then the unexpected happened.

The office door opened with a bang, and the real Roxbury Medcroft stepped into the room.  He halted just inside the door and looked about in momentary bewilderment.

“This is a private—­” began the manager, stepping forward.  A flying figure sped past him; a delighted little shriek rang in his ears.  He saw Edith Medcroft hurl herself into the arms of her own husband.  At the same moment Brock bounded across the room and pounced eagerly upon the welcome intruder.