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The devious and scientific slayer of Telfik Bey in tears? It seemed completely out of the picture. "You may go," said he, and seating himself at the desk, proceeded to an examination of his newly acquired property. The newspapers in the scrap basket, mainly copies of the Evening Register, seemed to contain, upon cursory examination, nothing germane to the issue.
In it were only a desk, two chairs and a scrap basket. The basket was crammed with newspapers. One of them was the Hotel Register. Average Jones found Telfik Bey's name, as he had expected, in its roster. "I'll give fifty dollars for the furniture as it stands." "Glad to get it," was the prompt response. "Will you want anything else, now?" "Yes. Send the janitor here."
I went to England to study further. Thence I came to America to wait." "You have heard his confession, all of you," said young Mr. McIntyre, rising. "I shall have him put under arrest pending advice from Washington." "You, may save yourself the trouble, I think, Tommy," drawled Average Jones. "Mr. Smith will never be called to account in this world for the murder execution of Telfik Bey."
"That's what I'm here to get at. The murderers of Telfik Bey, of course. My instructions are to find out secretly, if at all. For if it does get into the newspapers there'll be the very deuce to pay. "You need not, in point of fact, tell me anything about it at all," observed Average Jones equably. Pomposity fell away from Mr. Thomas Colvin McIntyre, leaving him palpably shivering.
"The Turkish Embassy never reserved any apartment for Telfik Bey," put in the Fifth Assistant Secretary of State. "Surely you are mistaken, sir," replied the hotel man. "I saw their emissary myself. He specified for rooms on the south side, either the third or fourth floor. Wouldn't have anything else." "You gave him a definite reservation?" asked Jones. "Yes; 335 and 336."
The name had struck a response from some thought wire within Average Jones' perturbed brain. Presently it came to him as visualized print in small head-lines, reproduced to the mind's eye from the Washington newspaper which he had so exhaustively studied. THIS TURK A QUICK JUMPER Telfik Bey, Guest of Turkish Embassy, Barely Escapes a Speeding Motor-Car No arrest, it appeared, had been made.
"'No," replied the manager, and, in the same breath, the budding diplomat demanded: "What are you up to, Average? Why should he?" Average Jones turned to him. "To what other hotels would the Turkish Embassy be likely to send its men?" "Sometimes their charge d'affaires goes to the Nederstrom." "Go up there and find out whether a room has been reserved for Telfik Bey, and if so "
It was while Average Jones was waiting for a break of that deadlock of events which, starting from the flat-dweller with the poisoned face, finally worked out the strange fate of Telfik Bey, that he sat, one morning, breakfasting late.
"From the Dial," he said, handing it to Average Jones. The clipping looked conventional enough. DIED July 21, suddenly at the Hotel Palatia: Telfik Bey of Stamboul, Turkey. Funeral services from the Turkish Embassy, Washington, on Tues. Ana Alhari. "If the newspapers ever discover " The young diplomat stopped short before the enormity of the hypothesis.
"You are right, Average," he said. "The same man had reserved rooms at the Nederstrom for Telfik Bey." "What's the location?" "Tenth floor; north side. He had insisted on both details. Nos. 1015, 1017." "What neighbors?" "Bond salesman on one side, Reverend and Mrs. Salisbury, of Wilmington, on the other." "Um-m-m. What across the street?" "How should I know? You didn't tell me to ask."
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