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Read Ebook: What Might Have Been Expected by Stockton Frank Richard
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Ebook has 650 lines and 50776 words, and 13 pages
Editor: Chickering Carter
NICK CARTER STORIES
Terms to NICK CARTER STORIES Mail Subscribers.
Single Copies or Back Numbers, 5c. Each.
THE YELLOW LABEL;
Or, NICK CARTER AND THE SOCIETY LOOTERS.
Edited by CHICKERING CARTER.
AN ENTERPRISING WAITER.
Alfred Knox Atherton was one of the most popular members of the "Marmawell Club." He was a man in the prime of life, but, in spite of his wealth and good looks--and in spite of the schemes of designing mothers--he was still unmarried.
As is usually the case in such places, most of the waiters at the Marmawell Club were foreigners. One among them is worthy of special mention. He was the cardroom waiter, who went by the name of Max Berne, and was understood to hail from that land of model hotel keepers and waiters, Switzerland.
Max evidently had seen a great deal of the world, although he was still a young man. Paris, Berlin, Vienna, Rome, Madrid, St. Petersburg--we beg pardon, Petrograd--mention any of these cities to Max, and he could tell you which was the quickest way of getting there, which were the best hotels to stay at, how much they would charge you, what the cooking was like, and what quality of cigars and wines they stocked.
Needless to say, this made him very popular with the members of the Marmawell. He was, in fact, a perfect encyclopedia of information on all matters relating to the leading cities of Europe, and he could speak French, Italian, and Spanish as fluently as he spoke English.
That evening he was hovering over one of the tables in the deserted cardroom, giving a deft touch here and there, when Atherton walked in.
"Evening, Max!" the social favorite said affably. "Do you know if Mr. Frost is about?"
He referred to Jackson Frost--"Jack Frost," as his friends called him--a young man of excellent family and expensive tastes, who belonged to the so-called "sporting set."
"Yes, sir," replied Max, in his silky, deferential voice. "Mr. Frost is in the writing room. He told me to let him know when you arrived. Shall I tell him you are here, or will you go up to him?"
"Is he alone in the writing room?"
"No, sir--at least, he wasn't when I was there. There were several other gentlemen in the room."
"Then ask him to join me here, and, after you have given him my message, bring me some Scotch."
Max noiselessly retired, and presently returned with the whisky.
"Mr. Frost will be down in a moment, sir," he said, as he placed the articles at Atherton's elbow.
He had scarcely spoken before Jackson Frost appeared, a tall young fellow, faultlessly dressed.
"So, here you are!" he said, addressing Atherton. "A bit late, aren't you?"
Before Atherton could reply, two other members of the club strolled into the room, a fact which brought a frown of annoyance to the man's handsome face.
While the newcomers were giving their orders to Max, the latter stood before them in an attitude of respectful attention. All the time, however, he was straining his ears to catch what was passing between Atherton and Frost.
"Is everything arranged?" he heard the latter ask, in a low tone.
"Yes," Atherton replied. "I came to tell you what the arrangements are, but we can't talk here."
"Come up to my room," suggested Frost. "I'll say I'm going up to dress for dinner, and you can follow me in a few minutes."
"Right," said Atherton. "We'll be safe from interruption there."
"We're trying to make up a four for cards; would you and Mr. Atherton care to join us?"
"Thanks, but I haven't time," said Frost. "I'm dining out to-night, and I'm just going up to my room to change."
"No, sir," said the waiter.
Atherton paid, and Max left the room.
The club bar was in the basement, but instead of going there to procure the drinks which had been ordered, Max glided to the end of the entrance hall, walked leisurely up one flight of stairs, and then, being out of sight from below, darted up two other flights.
It seemed a curious thing for a cardroom waiter to do. On the fourth floor of the building were quite a number of private rooms, which were reserved by members who wished to have a place where they could spend a night, or where they could change into evening dress--or out of it--without the trouble of going home. One of these rooms--it was number twenty-five--was rented by Jackson Frost.
Reaching this fourth floor, Max did another curious thing--an extremely curious thing for a cardroom waiter to do.
Approaching the door of Frost's room, he drew a bunch of skeleton keys from his pocket, selected one of them, and opened the door. Having gained access to the room, he darted across to the window, opened it an inch or two from the bottom, then hastily retreated, locking the door behind him and hurrying back downstairs.
Halfway down the last flight of stairs, he met Jackson Frost. Max humbly stepped aside to allow Frost to pass, and then went on to the bar, secured the drinks which had been ordered, and took them to the cardroom.
Atherton was still there, but two or three minutes later he rose to his feet, nodded to the two other members, and left the room.
"He's going up to Frost's room," thought the waiter.
He glanced impatiently at his watch. It was five minutes to seven. In five minutes he would be off duty.
"Confound it!" he exclaimed inwardly. "Why couldn't Atherton have waited that long? However, I don't suppose he and Frost will finish their talk in five minutes. All the same, I hope Sachs won't be late to-night."
Sachs was the name of the waiter who was to relieve Max at seven o'clock. He was very punctual as a rule, and this was no exception. Just as the clock was striking seven, he appeared at the cardroom door.
"Anything new, Max?" he asked.
"Nothing," Max answered shortly. "Good night."
"What's your rush?" asked Sachs, with a grin. "You seem to be in a tearing hurry."
"I am," was the answer, and without another word Max left the room.
If he was in such a desperate hurry to be off, though, one would have expected him to go straight down to the waiters' room, change his clothes, and leave the premises, but, instead of doing this, he repeated most of his curious performances of a few minutes earlier.
That is to say, he dawdled up the first flight of stairs, and then, as soon as he was out of sight of those in the entrance hall, he darted up to the fourth floor.
With catlike steps he glided to the door of room No. 25, and stood for a moment in a listening attitude.
A murmur of voices inside the room told him that Atherton and Frost were there. He could not hear what they were saying, but he had anticipated that, and that was why he had opened the window of Frost's room.
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