Page:The Whisper on the Stair by Lyon Mearson (1924).djvu/77

 “Eh, what?” said Val, coming to himself. “Oh, the club, to be sure.”

“Yes, sir, the club,” said Eddie impassively. “Shall I wait, sir?”

“No. Go home and tell Chong I’ll be home to dinner—and tell him to make it good, too.” This was a joke, because Chong’s cooking was the glory of Val’s apartment, and no one knew this better than the suave little Oriental himself, who worshiped Val with an abiding love that was second only to the love Eddie had for his employer.

“You needn’t come back, Eddie. I’ll try to stagger home on foot.”

“Yes, sir. Don’t stagger through any dark streets, sir,” replied Eddie evenly.

Val looked at him in inquiry.

“Why, what do you mean?” he asked. “Anything up that I don’t know about?” Eddie, as Val well knew, was not accustomed to making remarks at random to his employer.

Eddie stepped closer and whispered. There was nobody near them, so there was no reason for whispering, but it suited the moods of both men.

“There was two men, sir.” He paused and looked at Val significantly, mysteriously.

“Two men!” Val gazed at him. “You mean⸺”

“Yes,” came back Eddie. “They followed us in a taxi. I kinda thought you might of took notice, sir, but I guess you was too busy thinking. They was hanging around across the street from our last stop, with a cab handy, and when we beat it I looked back and noticed them give ’er the gas and followed.” In moments of forgetfulness Eddie always lapsed into the