“Is he still here?”

“No.  Gone back to Angelica City.”

Retrieving her cracker, the guest finished her meal, heartily but thoughtfully.  She insisted on lending a hand to the washing-up process, and complimented Banneker on his neatness.

“You haven’t told me your name yet,” he reminded her when the last shining tin was hung up.

“No; I haven’t.  What will you do with it when you get it?”

“Report it to the company for their lists.”

“Suppose I don’t want it reported to the company?’

“Why on earth shouldn’t you?”

“I may have my reasons.  Would it be put in the papers?”

“Very likely.”

“I don’t want it in the papers,” said the girl with decision.

“Don’t you want it known that you’re all right?  Your people—­”

“I’ll wire my people.  Or you can wire them for me.  Can’t you?”

“Of course.  But the company has a right to know what has happened to its passengers.”

“Not to me!  What has the company done for me but wreck me and give me an awful bang on the head and lose my baggage and—­Oh, I nearly forgot.  I took my traveling-bag when I ran.  It’s in the hut.  I wonder if you would get it for me?”

“Of course.  I’ll go now.”

“That’s good of you.  And for your own self, but not your old company, I’ll tell you my name.  I’m—­”

“Wait a moment.  Whatever you tell me I’ll have to report.”

“You can’t,” she returned imperiously.  “It’s in confidence.”

“I won’t accept it so.”

“You’re a most extraordinary sta—­a most extraordinary sort of man.  Then I’ll give you this much for yourself, and if your company collects pet names, you can pass it on.  My friends call me Io.”

“Yes.  I know.  You’re I.O.W.”

“How do you know that?  And how much more do you know?”

“No more.  A man on the train reported your initials from your baggage.”

“I’ll feel ever so much better when I have that bag.  Is there a hotel near here?”

“A sort of one at Manzanita.  It isn’t very clean.  But there’ll be a train through to-night and I’ll get you space on that.  I’d better get a doctor for you first, hadn’t I?”

“No, indeed!  All I need is some fresh things.”

Banneker set off at a brisk pace.  He found the extravagant little traveling-case safely closed and locked, and delivered it outside his own door which was also closed and, he suspected, locked.

“I’m thinking,” said the soft voice of the girl within.  “Don’t let me interrupt your work.”

Beneath, at his routine, Banneker also set himself to think; confused, bewildered, impossibly conjectural thoughts not unmingled with semi-official anxiety.  Harboring a woman on company property, even though she were, in some sense, a charge of the company, might be open to misconceptions.  He wished that the mysterious Io would declare herself.