"The American consul is out there," he exclaimed, storming about the
little room.
"That's fine!" cried Ned. "I presume I can see him?"
The detective glared at the boy and shook his head.
"No, you can't," he declared. "You'll stay here."
"And in the meantime you'll tell him that I have gone away?"
"We'll tell him what we choose."
Ned made a quick dash for the door, tipped the assistant manager over a
broken-backed chair which stood in the way, and passed into the outer
office. The detective grabbed at him as he sped past, but the boy
eluded the ham-like hands which were thrust forward.
There were three persons in the office, when Ned bolted into it. These
were the operator, the American consul, and Hans! The German grinned in
an apologetic way as Ned hastily greeted him.
The American consul was a pleasant-faced gentleman of middle age. He
was dressed in rather sporty clothes, and there was just a hint of a
swagger of importance in his walk and manner as he extended his hand to
Ned. Dressler-Archibald Hewitt Dressler, to be exact--was a pretty fair
sample of the keen, open-hearted corn-belt politician rewarded with a
foreign appointment for rounding up the right crowd at the right time.
Ned was glad to see that the consul recognized him as the lad in whose
interest he had been pulled out of bed. He took the official's
outstretched hand and shook it warmly.
"I never was so glad to see any person in my life!" Ned exclaimed, while
Hans stood by with that bland German smile on his face.
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