Then with it, and the three American Beauties, he passed
quickly into the corridor and to an adjoining apartment. There he rang
the bell vigorously and long.
He was still ringing when a dishevelled figure, in blue pajamas and a
scowl, opened the door.
"What the devil do you--" the disturbed one growled.
"S-h-h!" said Harleston, his finger on his lips. "Keep these for me
until tomorrow, Stuart."
And crowding the roses and the envelope in the astonished man's hands,
he hurried away.
The pajamaed one glared at the flowers and the envelope; then he turned
and flung them into a corner of the living-room.
"Hell!" he said in disgust. "Harleston's either crazy or in love: it's
the same thing anyway."
He slammed the door and went back to bed.
Harleston, chuckling, returned to his quarters; retrieved from the floor
a leaf and a petal and tossed them out of the window. Then, being
assured by a careful inspection of the room that there were no further
traces of the roses remaining, he went to bed.
Two minutes after his head touched the pillow, he was asleep.
Presently he awoke--listening!
Some one was on the fire-escape. The passage leading to it was just at
the end of his suite; more than that, one could climb over the railing,
and, by a little care, reach the sill of his bedroom window.
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