The stout man who had dozed in the corner shuffled to his feet and approached leisurely.
"This man is a spy. Help me tie him," Potter panted.
"For sure," said the man, stepping behind Potter. Then Potter felt something hard jammed against his ribs. He did not see it, nor could he feel its shape, but he knew what it was.
"Vell," said the stout man, "I t'ink I should take some interest. I t'ink maybe it iss best if you git up und leave the young man alone. For sure. You should get up, und you should _shut_ up. Right off."
The man's voice was not raised, not angry or menacing, rather genial, in fact, but the thing pressed against Philip's ribs was not genial. Nor was it an instrument encouraging one to dispute.
"Git up," the stout man repeated, and Potter obeyed sullenly.
Philip struggled to his feet, scowling. "I told you to keep out of this," he said to Potter. "You're one of them that won't take advice. You come beggin' for it, and now you're gettin' it.... You boys keep him here an hour--after that I don't care what becomes of him.... Then you better beat it. The government dicks are wise to us. I guess the circus is over."
"He will stay--like goot young man," said the stout individual, pleasantly. "You go along, mit nottings to worry."
Philip went first into the rear portion of the house, where the living quarters of the proprietor had their location--judging, at least, from the odor of cookery. He remained five minutes, then reappeared. He had done the telephoning he had come to do.
"Don't let him make his getaway," he said, as he went out of the door.
"I t'ink you should better go in der back room," said the stout man, and Potter obeyed reluctantly.
"How about getting away yourself?" he said. "Doesn't that interest you?"
"You should worry. In one hour you can go. Den I look out for meinself."
Potter sat down in a rickety chair, a very disgusted young man. He was a blunderer. From the first he had blundered. And now his blundering promised to bring all his discoveries to nothing. Cantor would escape, others, duly warned, would escape--all, doubtless, to carry on their work elsewhere in the country. So much for rushing into things headlong.... He wondered what Downs was doing. There was but one ray of light in the affair--Cantor's work was interrupted, his organization broken up. But that was little when compared to what might have been accomplished if he had worked with his intelligence instead of his impulses. It is no pleasant experience for a young man of Potter's make-up to find himself ridiculous, and he felt he was ridiculous--held a futile prisoner by a stout old German who seemed to regard the whole thing in a humorous light. He scowled and applied a well-selected list of names to himself.