This is the wrong room."
"I know it," he replied. "I had it written in the book. But I want
forty-nine--now. Just follow me, Walter."
Nervously I followed him into the room.
"Don't you understand?" he went on. "Room forty-nine is probably
just the same as fifty-nine, except perhaps the pictures and
furniture, only it is on the floor below."
He gazed about keenly. Then he took a few steps to the window and
threw it open. As he stood there he took the parts of the rods he
had been carrying and fitted them together until he had a pole
some eight or ten feet long. At one end was a curious arrangement
that seemed to contain lenses and a mirror. At the other end was
an eye-piece, as nearly as I could make out.
"What is that?" I asked as he completed his work.
"That? That is an instrument something on the order of a miniature
submarine periscope," Craig replied, still at work.
I watched him, fascinated at his resourcefulness. He stealthily
thrust the mirror end of the periscope out of the window and up
toward the corresponding window up stairs. Then he gazed eagerly
through the eye-piece.
"Walter--look!" he exclaimed to me.
I did. There, sure enough, was Michael, pacing up and down the
room. He had already preceded us. In his scared and stealthy
manner, he had entered the Raines Law hotel which announced
"Furnished Rooms for Gentlemen Only.
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