CHAPTER VII

SHOCK UPON SHOCK

The clamor of those who heard John Ryder's statement drew most of the crowd surging toward the desk, before which the business man stood. Colonel Brack, reddening and with glittering eyes, advanced upon Ryder with his "step-clump" stride, demanding:

"Suh! do you call this a gentlemanly thing to do? Why, suh, the women and children in this hotel are at your mercy. It's an outrage, suh!"

"The rest of the committee backed out on the steps of the store," said Ryder coolly. "Time was passing."

"Why, the money is already put up for the supplies," cried somebody with much bombast.

"Not for these supplies that I have obtained," said Ryder decisively. "In the first place two hundred dollars will not go far toward the purchase of the goods."

"You mean to profit upon our necessities, do you, Mr. Ryder?" cried Jimson shrilly.

"Shylock!" exclaimed another of the angry men.

Ryder turned his back upon them and approached George.

"I've bought the stuff," he said shortly. "It was a perfectly legitimate transaction."

"By gad, suh!" reiterated the wrathful colonel, "you have taken an unfair advantage of a party of gentlemen who trusted you. You're a----"

Ryder failed to hear the remainder of the colonel's sputterings. But a voice nearer to his ear could not be drowned. This said:

"By George! that Ryder's a cleaner. He was never known to let a good chance slip in the Street, they say, and I can believe it. He's got us where the hair's short--and it's our own fault."

John Ryder was angry. The manner in which the other members of the committee had dodged financial responsibility and were now declaiming against his "grasping" methods, exasperated him. He would not give them the satisfaction of an explanation. He took nobody but the steward and the clerk into his confidence.

It was while he was discussing matters with these two employees of the hotel that the engineer sent up word that he had been forced to bank the fires under the boilers, but that the dynamos would be kept running until midnight.

"That man seems faithful," Ryder observed. "Has word been sent around for the help to come together for a talk with us? We want to know how many will remain here."

The steward turned red and blurted out: "I don't believe--that is, it will be difficult to get many of them together, sir."

"Why?"

"It is believed that Mr. Bangs will not pay wages beyond today, and the men and girls are deserting. Some went on that nine o'clock train, and others have found means of getting away from the hotel."

"By thunder!" ejaculated Ryder. "Where's Bangs? We'll get what's left of the help together and make him assure them----"

"I--I don't think Mr. Bangs is here," hesitated George.

"What's that?"

"I couldn't help his going, sir. I could not hold him by force, you know. You gentlemen should have had him watched."

"What has he done?" asked Ryder, recovering his calmness.

"Right after you gentlemen left I heard him telephoning to the railroad station. The operator and agent were not there, but the conductor of that combination was. He's a friend of Bangs'. The train was held ten minutes. It did not get away until ten minutes past nine. And I think Mr. Bangs went on it."

"And his going has disorganized the whole household," the steward added, sadly. "The chef has the kitchen fairly under control now. He's an Italian--Vitalli is his name--not a bad fellow at all and attached to the house rather than to Bangs--as I am and George, here, is."

"You believe the estate will do the right thing by you?" Ryder asked curiously.

"Yes," said the steward. "The heirs will not wish the house closed. In such a way, too! They would consider it a disgrace. Pinewood Inn is one of the oldest hotels on the coast. This Mr. Giddings, the lawyer, doesn't know much about the hotel business, I fancy, or he would not have acted so precipitately and given Mr. Bangs a chance to put the guests out. If all the help would work together we'd come out all right. But most of them care nothing about the hotel or the welfare of its guests," and the steward wagged his head.

"Where are the other clerks?" Ryder asked of George.

"Mr. Manger, the head clerk, went to town day before yesterday. Somehow, I feel that he had some wind of what was coming. But heaven knows _I_ didn't, Mr. Ryder."

"Or you would have gone, likewise?" asked the man of business, with a grim smile, but watching the ruddy young fellow with his plastered yellow hair in some curiosity.

"Well--no," hesitated George. "I think I should have hung on in any case. You see," he added, "I'm rather fond of a scrap. And Jim Howe--he relieves me at midnight--_he'll_ see it through, no fear!"

"Well, gentlemen," Ryder finally said with a sigh, "there doesn't seem to be much now that we can do save to sit tight. You two influence all the employees you can to stick by the ship. These lights and stoves and oil are already at the door, I have no doubt. You take charge of them all," he said to the steward, "and get somebody to fix up the lamps and fill them. But give none of them out until George, here, has listed them. He knows more about the guests and their needs than any of us, I presume."

Ryder had no time to go upstairs just then; but fearing Ruth would be again disturbed by his continued absence, he scratched off a little note and handed it to one of the boys.

"Now, give that to nobody but Mrs. Ryder," he told the boy, remembering Mrs. Judson, who he feared might still be hovering about the suite.

Ryder observed that the male guests who had heretofore been so friendly with him now eyed him askance and that Colonel Brack had gathered around him a group that he was haranguing vigorously. By the fiery glances cast in his direction by the old campaigner Ryder was quite sure Brack spoke of him.

"I am certainly getting _persona non grata_ in this hotel," murmured Ryder, with grim humor.

Then, of a sudden, he saw that one of those listening to Colonel Brack was the man who had disturbed Ruth at the door of their suite. Ryder turned back to speak once more with the clerk:

"Who is that fellow?" he asked, calling George's attention to the stranger.

"That man? Let's see--he came tonight. Refused to be turned away although at that time, being under Mr. Bangs' instructions, I told him we could not accommodate him. And I have not yet assigned him a room. But his name's White."

George whirled the register about and pointed to the last name on the page. Ryder murmured it over to himself: "'John B. White, Rome.'

"Rome, what? New York, Georgia, or the original home of the Cæsar family?" Ryder asked carelessly.

"I don't know, sir. He just wrote that down. I don't really know what do to with him. I think from something he dropped that he came here expecting to find friends."

"And didn't find them?" Ryder's curiosity prompted him to demand.

"He hasn't seemed to."

"Who are his friends? Don't you know their names?"

"I--I---- Well, I declare, sir, he did mention one name. That of a Miss--Miss---- Well, it escapes me," said George, in confusion. "It was just at the outburst of this trouble, and I was all mixed up. I am sure it was a lady he asked me about. Perhaps it is a runaway match and the lady has backed out," and George chuckled at his own joke.

"He doesn't act much like a bridegroom," observed Ryder, still watching White.

"I might say that about you, Mr. Ryder," ventured the clerk slyly.

"By thunder! that's so," admitted Ryder. "Nor do I feel like one. This is a nice mess for a fellow to get into at such a time. I can't say that I am glad I came to Pinewood Inn for my honeymoon, George."

But as he strolled away from the hotel desk his mind was still fixed on the man, White. He remembered the bellboy coming through the foyer paging "John B. White" and saying that Mrs. White wanted him upstairs. Now, hang it! if Mrs. White was here, didn't the hotel clerk know her?

"Odd--deucedly odd," thought John Ryder. "And how startled that fellow was when he heard the boy. Or was he? Not a bad looking fellow; but he's queer. Ruth says he is touched in the upper story, and I believe myself that some of his buttons are loose.

"Or, if he is a crook--and that would not be so strange," added Ryder, letting his mind run upon this train of thought. "A crook with a woman accomplice in this hotel might easily make a good haul tonight, considering the state affairs are in. I wonder if there isn't a detective attached to Pinewood Inn."

Before he could turn back to ask George about this, his attention was attracted from the man, White, to an old gentleman who had just left the elevator leaning on the arm of a colored man. The old fellow was in some excitement, and he hobbled quickly to the desk, his gray hair bristling from under the rim of the round black cap he wore, his feet shuffling in gay carpet slippers.

It was evident that he had retired to his room for the night, and had made himself comfortable there. Something had routed him out and he had merely shrugged himself into a coat before coming down to the office.

"Look here, sir! Look here, sir!" the old man cried, shaking his cane at George in a hand that quivered with palsy. "What does this mean? How dare that Bangs turn us out of the hotel in such a way? I'll write Mr. Giddings about it. Mr. Giddings is my friend. He will not see me so insulted and annoyed."

Ryder heard an amused bystander say:

"Here's old Pop Cudger; he's on the warpath, too. Now there'll be something doing."

"Get him and the colonel together and there will be fireworks, sure enough," agreed another man, with a chuckle.

George was trying to pacify the angry old man, but the latter would not accord the clerk's explanation much attention.

"It is nonsense! It is preposterous!" cried Mr. Cudger. "Mr. Giddings is my friend----"

"And if Giddings hadn't been so anxious to put Bangs out we wouldn't all be in this pickle," somebody remarked loud enough for Mr. Cudger to hear.

"Ha!" exclaimed the latter, turning a withering glance upon the speaker, and then immediately turning back to George. "Is it true that the lights are to be put out?"

"The dynamos can't run later than midnight. Then the lights will naturally have to be shut off all over the hotel, Mr. Cudger. I'm sorry, sir----"

"Lights turned out--and half the help running away?" cried Cudger. "Next thing, I suppose, James, here, will be leaving me in the lurch," and he glared at the colored man.

"Oh, no, suh! I'se gwine to stay right heah by yo'," declared James.

"And what's going to become of my picture?" demanded the old gentleman, beginning on another tack. "What provision has been made to guard my picture, sir---- Van Scamp's famous 'Cheesemonger'? That was hung in the parlor by special permission of Mr. Giddings, sir."

"I don't think anybody will touch your picture, Mr. Cudger," said the clerk, soothingly.

"Ha! How do you know that? In the state of confusion the house is now in, some vandal might easily cut the canvas out of its frame. It cost me many thousands of dollars, sir--and it's the finest example of Van Scamp's art in existence today. I will not trust it unguarded in that parlor under present circumstances."

"But I can't furnish a watchman to guard your picture," George urged.

"Well, where's the house detective?" demanded the old gentleman. "I must have protection for my picture."

"You certainly can't expect Miss Solomons to stand guard over it!" the clerk exclaimed. "You'd better have it removed to your room."

"You clown!" exclaimed the crotchety old man. "It wouldn't go through the door of my room. That is why it has to be hung in your miserable parlor." And as the clerk restrained both his temper and his tongue, he added: "If you will not furnish a watchman--and Mr. Giddings shall hear of your refusal, sir!--then James will have to guard the picture."

"Oh, no suh!" murmured the colored man. "Dat ain't no place fo' me all night. No, suh! Yo' might need me----"

"You will have to do it, James," repeated the old man. "If the lights go out what is going to prevent that canvas being cut out of the frame?"

"Das jest it, suh!" rejoined the colored man. "I don't want to stay dere in de dark--no, suh!"

"You are a coward, James--a pusillanimous coward!"

"Yes, suh! Dat may be, suh. But yo' might need me in de night."

"Of course I shall need you. I'll likely have one of my choking spells--or something. But I can't risk losing my Van Scamp. We shall both have to watch it, James. We will camp in the parlor all night.

"Young man," turning to George, "have a bed brought into the parlor for me. I will sleep there, and James shall keep watch."

"But, Mr. Cudger, that is the main parlor of the hotel. We cannot very easily let you sleep there," cried the distracted George.

At this point Ryder lost interest in the entire affair. The boy he had sent upstairs with the note to Ruth tugged at his sleeve.

"I can't find the lady, sir," he said, returning the letter to Ryder.

"Can't find who?"

"Mrs. Ryder, sir."

The man was amazed, and for an instant he was a little frightened. "Where did you go, boy?" he demanded.

"To Suite Three--where you told me. She wasn't there."

"How do you know she wasn't there?"

"The lady told me so. The lady who was there. She told me I'd made a mistake."

Ryder started for the staircase, his mind in a whirl. Where could Ruth have gone? Possibly to Mrs. Judson's apartment. Yet if so, who had met the boy and sent him away from Suite Three with such a message?