"What's the matter, old chap?" asked the hotel clerk, with ready sympathy. "Can I do anything for you?" It seemed as if Roy tried to speak, but only a murmur came from his lips. "He'll be all right in a little while," said Mr. Wakely quickly. "He's a little faint; that's all. I'll look after him." Somehow the clerk thought Mr. Wakely acted as if he did not want any one to come too near Roy, or lend any aid. A little later, leading the boy, who seemed to become weaker, Mr. Wakely got into the cab with him, and drove on. "Poor fellow," said the clerk sympathetically. "I hope he gets better. He certainly is a nice chap, and I wonder what could have made him ill so suddenly? I don't like that Wakely fellow." That evening it occurred to Mortimer De Royster that he had not seen his friend Roy for some time. Not, in fact, since he had parted with him at the hotel. "That's beastly impolite on my part, don't you know," said De Royster to himself. "I must run around and see him. I've been so busy straightening out my accounts since I came back from my western trip, that I have neglected all my friends. However, I'll make up for it. I'll take him to some theatre and give him a good time." Thus musing, Mortimer De Royster adjusted his one eye glass, selected a delicately-colored necktie from his rather large stock, and attired himself to go out and call at Roy's hotel, which he soon reached. "Good evening, Mortimer," greeted the clerk, who knew De Royster quite well. "How are you?" "Feeling very fit, old chap, don't you know," replied De Royster. "How are you?" "So-so." "That's good. Charming evening, isn't it? Charming. I--er--I called to see my friend, Mr. Bradner. Going to take him out and show him a bit of New York after dark, don't you know. I have tickets to a very nice show, and I think he'll like it. I owe a good deal to him, old man. He's a clever chap. I want to repay him in some way. I'll go up to his room." "It's no use." "No use. Why, my dear fellow, what do you mean?" "I mean he was taken away--ill--in a cab by a friend of his." "Who was the friend?" Mortimer De Royster lost his rather careless manner, and was all attention. "A fellow named Wakely. He took rooms here a day or so ago. Made friends with Mr. Bradner--Roy, I call him, for I feel quite friendly toward him. Late this afternoon Wakely came to me and said Roy was sick, and he was going to take him to a doctor." "And did he?" "That's what he did. Took his baggage too," and the clerk related what had taken place. "What sort of a fellow was this Wakely?" asked De Royster, with increasing interest. The clerk described him. The dudish jewelry salesman shook his head. "I don't recognize him," he said. "What do you think about it? You saw him." "I'll tell you what I think," went on the clerk. "I think that fellow Wakely is up to some game, and I wish Roy had not made his acquaintance."