never left Randolph's--"from the description the landlord gave our
clerk, you're the man himself."

For an instant Randolph flushed crimson. The natural mistake of
the landlord flashed upon him, his own stupidity in seeking this
information, the suspicious predicament in which he was now placed, and
the necessity of telling the whole truth. But the president's eye was at
once a threat and an invitation. He felt himself becoming suddenly cool,
and, with a business brevity equal to their own, said:--

"I was looking for work last night on the wharf. He employed me to carry
his bag to the hotel, saying I was to wait for him. I have waited since
nine o'clock last night in his room, and he has not come."

"What are you in such a d----d hurry for? He's trusted you; can't you
trust him? You've got his bag?" returned the president.

Randolph was silent for a moment. "I want to know what to do with it,"
he said.

"Hang on to it. What's in it?"

"Some clothes and a purse containing about seventy dollars."

"That ought to pay you for carrying it and storage afterward," said the
president decisively. "What made you come here?"

"I found this address in the purse," said Randolph, producing it.

"Is that all?"