He went out at once and made an arrangement for a car, and on returning

notified the clerk that he was going to leave, and asked to have his

bill made out. After some hesitation he said: "I'll pay three-twenty

too, while I'm at it. Friend of mine there, going with me. Yes, up to

to-night."

As he turned away he saw the short, heavy figure of Wilkins coming in.

He stood back and watched. The sheriff went to the desk, pulled the

register toward him and ran over several pages of it. Then he shoved it

away, turned and saw him.

"Been away, haven't you?" he asked.

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"Yes. I took a little horseback trip into the mountains. My knees are

still not on speaking terms."

The sheriff chuckled. Then he sobered.

"Come and sit down," he said. "I'm going to watch who goes in and out of

here for a while."

Bassett followed him unwillingly to two chairs that faced the desk and

the lobby. He had the key of Dick's room in his pocket, but he knew that

if he wakened he could easily telephone and have his door unlocked.

But that was not his only anxiety. He had a sudden conviction that

the sheriff's watch was connected with Dick himself. Wilkins, from a

friendly and gregarious fellow-being, had suddenly grown to sinister

proportions in his mind.

And, as the minutes went by, with the sheriff sitting forward and

watching the lobby and staircase with intent, unblinking eyes, Bassett's

anxiety turned to fear. He found his heart leaping when the room

bells rang, and the clerk, with a glance at the annunciator, sent boys

hurrying off. His hands shook, and he felt them cold and moist. And all

the time Wilkins was holding him with a flow of unimportant chatter.

"Watching for any one in particular?" he managed, after five minutes or

so.

"Yes. I'll tell you about it as soon as--Bill! Is Alex outside?"

Bill stopped in front of them, and nodded.

"All right. Now get this--I want everything decent and in order. No

excitement. I'll come out behind him, and you and Bill stand by. Outside

I'll speak to him, and when we walk off, just fall in behind. But keep

close."

Bill wandered off, to take up a stand of extreme nonchalance inside the

entrance. When Wilkins turned to him again Bassett had had a moment to

adjust himself, and more or less to plan his own campaign.

"Somebody's out of luck," he commented. "And speaking of being out of

luck, I've got a sick man on my hands. Friend of mine from home. We've

got to catch the midnight, too."




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