"None of that!"

Armitage arrested him with a gesture. "My name is Armitage,--John
Armitage," he said. "I advise you to remember it. Now go!"

The man hurried away, and Armitage slowly followed.

It occurred to him that the man might be of use, and with this in mind he
returned to the New American, got his key from the office, nodded to his
acquaintance of the street and led the way to the elevator.

Armitage put aside his coat and hat, locked the hall door, and then, when
the two stood face to face in his little sitting-room, he surveyed the
man carefully.

"What do you want?" he demanded bluntly.

He took a cigarette from a box on the table, lighted it, and then, with
an air of finality, fixed his gaze upon the man, who eyed him with a kind
of stupefied wonder. Then there flashed into the fellow's bronzed face
something of dignity and resentment. He stood perfectly erect with his
felt hat clasped in his hand. His clothes were cheap, but clean, and his
short coat was buttoned trimly about him.

"I want nothing, Mr. Armitage," he replied humbly, speaking slowly and
with a marked German accent.

"Then you will be easily satisfied," said Armitage. "You said your name
was--?"