Hobart glanced toward his companion inquiringly, evidently inclined to deny the request.

“Hell, you don’t want much,” he said rather gruffly.  “What do you think about this proposition, Natalie?”

The girl smiled, her eyes still on West’s face.

“Fair enough,” she admitted as though the whole matter was a joke.  “The man can do me no harm, and I am willing enough to be interviewed.  It looks like the easiest way out.”

His mood changed, influenced, no doubt, by her confidence in the result.

“All right, if you say so.  It is my guess you are equal to the job.  How much time do you want, West?”

“Ten or fifteen minutes.  I want to get down to the bottom of this thing.”

“Oh, you do, hey?  Modest as ever, I see.  Well, here’s luck to you.  You needn’t be afraid of the guy, Natalie; we got his gat before we brought him up here, and if he makes any break, I’ll be out in the hall ready to take a hand.  You’re still for it?”

“Yes,” indifferently, seating herself on a convenient chair.  “We might as well talk it out now as any time.  You go on, Jim, and leave it to me.”

Hobart was not entirely satisfied, hesitating as he lit a fresh cigar, his keen eyes watchful of them both.  However, it was plain to be seen the girl had made her decision, and he evidently knew her well enough to realize the uselessness of revolt.

“All right, then,” he replied finally, turning to the door.  “Suit yourself, only watch your step.  Anyhow, I’ll be within calling distance, if this guy gets gay.”

“Don’t worry about that,” a flash of anger in her eyes.  “I am no baby, Jim Hobart.  Go on now, and leave Captain West to me.”

He closed the door behind him, and the two were alone in the room.  No sound reached them from without, not even an echo of Hobart’s footsteps in the hall.  West looked across at the girl, who sat motionless, her eyes shaded by long lashes, and ringless fingers clasped in her lap.  She appeared indifferent, uninterested, scarcely aware of his presence.  He wondered if Hobart was listening at the door; what had become of Mike, and whether Sexton was alive or dead.  For the moment he could scarcely make himself realize the true situation.  His silence served to arouse her interest, for she suddenly lifted her head and looked at him.

“Well,” she said soberly.  “You have something to ask?”

“Much—­yes; but first, are we alone?”

“Certainly—­why?”

“This man Hobart, you are sure he is not listening at the door?”

She glanced about; then laughed.

“Little good that would do him; there is no key-hole, no chance for sound to penetrate.  We are quite alone, Captain, and you are perfectly free to say whatever you please.”

“But even then, is this wholly fair?”

“What do you mean?”

“I came here,” he explained earnestly, “with no bad intention; no desire to injure any one, Miss Coolidge; my only thought the possibility of being of some service to you.”