It was evident, too, that Brown was becoming uneasy and impatient to the verge of exasperation, and that he was finally coming to the conclusion that he could do nothing with the man McKay as far as pumping was concerned.

Twice, on pretexts, he left McKay alone in the small room and went into the cafe, where his two companions of the Hotel Astor were seated at a table, discussing sardine sandwiches and dark brew.

“I can’t get a damned thing out of him,” he said in a low voice.  “Who the hell he is and where he comes from is past me.  Had I better fix him and take his key?”

“Yess,” nodded one of the other men, “it iss perhaps better that we search now his luggage in his room.”

“I guess that’s all we can hope for from this guy.  Say!  He’s a clam.  And he may be only a jazzer at that.”

“He comes on the Peer Gynt this morning.  We shall not forget that alretty, nor how he iss calling at those telephones all afternoon.”

“He may be a nosey newspaper man—­just a fresh souse,” said Brown.  “All the same I think I’ll fix him and we’ll go see what he’s got in his room.”

The two men rose, paid their reckoning, and went out; Brown returned to the small room, where McKay sat at the table with his curly brown head buried in his arms.

He did not look up immediately when Brown returned—­time for the latter to dose the steaming tumbler at the man’s elbow, and slip the little bottle back into his pocket.

Then, thinking McKay might be asleep, he nudged him, and the young man lifted his marred and dissipated visage and extended one hand for his glass.

They both drank.

“Wheresa Major?” inquired McKay.  “Gotta see him rightaway.  Great secreksh—­”

“Take a nap.  You’re tired.”

“Yess’m all in,” muttered the other.  “Had a hard time—­prisoner—­three—­three months hiding—­” His head fell on his arms again.

Brown rose from his chair, bent over him, remained poised above his shoulder for a few moments.  Then he coolly took the key from McKay’s overcoat pocket and very deftly continued the search, in spite of the drowsy restlessness of the other.

But there were no papers, no keys, only a cheque-book and a wallet packed with new banknotes and some foreign gold and silver.  Brown merely read the name written in the new cheque-book but did not take it or the money.

Then, his business with McKay being finished, he went out, paid the reckoning, tipped the waiter generously, and said: 

“My friend wants to sleep for half an hour.  Let him alone until I come back for him.”

Brown had been gone only a few moments when McKay lifted his head from his arms with a jerk, looked around him blindly, got to his feet and appeared in the cafe doorway, swaying on unsteady legs.

“Gotta see the Major!” he said thickly. “‘M’not qui’ well.  Gotta—­”

The waiter attempted to quiet him, but McKay continued on toward the door, muttering that he had to find the Major and that he was not feeling well.