"Saves time answering." Pape got underway for the elevator. "Greetings and thank-yous, ma'am, and many of them. If any more males call me, I may not be in _until_ morning."
Her exclamation faded into her stock-in-trade smile. But curiosity was in the baby stare with which she followed him to the grated door. A queer customer among the Astor's queer. At that, though, as she admitted to her deeper self, she was "intrigued" rather than "peeved" by his utter lack of interest in what she did with her blond self when off duty.
Swinging across the rotunda six floors below, Pape was startled to see a face he recognized--that "fightingest" face of the bully with whom he had gone the single round on the park butte-top. A clockward glance reminded him that he was in considerable of a hurry. He had adequate time to keep the most important appointment of his recent life, although none to spare. The pug probably had been one of those to call him on the 'phone. But wonder over how and why he had been located by his late antagonist must be deferred until some moment less engaged.
Next second Pape heard what he instantly surmised to be the voice of a second of the three inquirers--that of Swinton Welch, boss digger at the four poplars. Now, he really felt indebted to the dapper sub-contractor who, together with the "grave diggers," on the sacred spot, had put him in stride for the vast progress of his day. Moreover, he was interested in the possible connection between Welch and the unnamed battler he had overcome, as indicated by their joint wait at his hotel. Although he located Welch at once leaning against the news-stand, he felt he should not stop, even for a word of thanks or a pointed question. Tilting the brim of his sombrero over his eyes, he made for the Broadway entrance.
From close behind, the thin voice of the thin boss answered several of the queries which Pape might have put without need of his putting them. So, the name of his adversary of the night before was Duffy! There was some connection between him and Welch. Both were waiting for him.
A heavy hand clamped his shoulder. "Hey you, what's your hurry?"
Shaking the clutch, Pape turned forcefully just as Welch joined Duffy. With but a fragment of a prefatory plan, his arms flung out flail-like and brought his two untimely callers into violent collision. A short-arm jab just below the curve of Duffy's ribs doubled him over his undersized partner with a yap of pain. Before the lobby crowd realized that anything untoward was being punched, Pape's identity as aggressor had been lost by his dash for the revolving exit.