His feet made no sound upon the rugs. James marched back and forth in perfect unconsciousness of his presence. Ryder made his way to a big, sleepy-hollow chair, fumbled for the arms, found them, and sank back restfully into--some other person's lap! It would be hard telling whether John Ryder or the person in the easy chair, was the most startled. The former leaped up with a surprised grunt. The other darted out of the chair and, before the man could get more than a yard away, he felt the end of a revolver thrust right against his waistline! "Hold on!" hissed an excited voice. "What you doing here? Trying to get fresh with me, or are you just a ninny?" John Ryder, had he not been for the moment speechless, would certainly have owned to the final accusation. "Ninny" it was! If he were not one, he certainly would not be wandering about this hotel instead of peaceably occupying the suite for which he was paying thirty dollars a day. "March out there under the lamp till I get a look at you! Quick now!" jerked out the person with the weapon. Ryder began to do as he was told--backward. He could see the lighted end of the room. James, his face graying with fear, was squatting down behind the invalid chair in which his sleeping master reclined. Evidently the row at the upper end of the room had startled the negro more than it had the two who were taking part in it. Ryder's brusk antagonist jerked him swiftly around into the corridor, under the nearest bracket lamp. "Hugh!" exclaimed Miss Solomons. "So it's you? I've had my eye on you for some time. What you doing here, anyway? And what you doin' back there in those rooms where that Judson had a fit? You one of her friends? What's your name?" "I am Mr. Ryder," he told the house detective mildly, noting that the paper novel was still clutched fast in her left hand. She grunted, tucking the revolver out of sight. Evidently, whatever she suspected John Ryder of, she did not consider him dangerous. "Ryder, heh?" jerked out the house detective. "Same one that beat 'em all to the lamps and candles? Not a crook, then. Anyway, not a _little_ crook. What you doin' in those rooms just now?" she repeated. "Mrs. Judson still there?" "Yes," Ryder said with vast disgust. "They are putting her to bed. Turned me out." "And why not?" snapped Miss Solomons. "You didn't expect to stay there all night, did you?" "Why not?" Ryder demanded with sudden vexation. "I'm paying for them." "That may be. I don't doubt it," the house detective said sharply. "But we don't allow anything like that here." She gave Ryder a little shove toward the stairs, and turned abruptly back into the parlor. "All right, Je-eames!" he heard her drawl to the colored man. "No gun-play this time. Come out and do your goose-step up and down the rug. And if anybody else blunders in here while I'm napping, keep 'em out of my lap, will you?"