"Craig, do you see that fellow over by the desk, talking to the night clerk?" I asked
Kennedy as we lounged into the lobby of the new Hotel Vanderveer one evening after
reclaiming our hats from the plutocrat who had acquired the checking privilege. We had
dined on the roof garden of the Vanderveer apropos of nothing at all except our desire to
become acquainted with a new hotel.
"Yes," replied Kennedy, "what of him?"
"He's the house detective, McBride. Would you like to meet him? He's full of good
stories, an interesting chap. I met him at a dinner given to the President not long ago and
he told me a great yarn about how the secret service, the police, and the hotel combined
to guard the President during the dinner. You know, a big hotel is the stamping ground
for all sorts of cranks and crooks."
The house detective had turned and had caught my eye. Much to my surprise, he
advanced to meet me.
"Say, - er - er - Jameson," he began, at last recalling my name, though he had seen me
only once and then for only a short time. "You're on the Star, I believe?"
"Yes," I replied, wondering what he could want.
"Well - er - do you suppose you could do the house a little - er -=20 favour?" he asked,
hesitating and dropping his voice.
"What is it?" I queried, not feeling certain but that it was a veiled attempt to secure a little
free advertising for the Vanderveer. "By the way, let me introduce you to my friend
Kennedy, McBride."
"Craig Kennedy?" he whispered aside, turning quickly to me. I nodded.
"Mr. Kennedy," exclaimed the house man deferentially, "are you very busy just now?"
"Not especially so," replied Craig. "My friend Jameson was telling me that you knew
some interesting yarns about hotel detective life. I should like to hear you tell some of
them, if you are not yourself too - "
"Perhaps you'd rather see one instead?" interrupted the house detective, eagerly scanning
Craig's face.
"Indeed, nothing could please me more. What is it - a 'con' man or a hotel 'beat'?"
