Page:The Whisper on the Stair by Lyon Mearson (1924).djvu/64

 “Well—how do I know she wants you to have it? I think a great deal of Miss Pomeroy—have known her for years—and I wouldn’t want to give her address to a man she did not want to see. I was very sorry when financial reverses made it impossible for her to stay here, where I could keep an eye on her—but she refused to stay under the circumstances. If her finances had⸺”

“Well, that’s what I want to see her about,” put in Val. “I have information of great financial value to her and⸺”

“Well, why don’t you write it?” queried the hotel man. “I’ll see that she gets the letter.”

Val shook his head. “This is not that kind of information—it’s got to be given personally. In fact, I don’t mind telling you that I have a large sum of money with me that belongs to Miss Pomeroy—money which I wish to give her personally.”

The hotel man considered for a few moments. He was an elderly, slow man, calm and sedate in his movements and in his habits of thought, and not to be rushed off his feet by every nice looking stranger who happened into his hotel.

“Tell you what I’ll do,” he said at length. “Give me your name and I’ll call her up and ask her whether she wants to see you.”

“Fair enough,” said Val. “My name is Valentine Morley.” The older man looked at him with new interest. Everybody in New York knew Valentine Morley, possessor of the Morley millions, to say nothing of the Congressional medal of honor. The hotel man reconsidered once more.

“Well, that being the case, I guess it will be all right. I won’t bother to telephone. I recognize you now,”