Hours afterwards he had, of course, found excuses for David.  Accepted them, rather, as a part of the mystery which wrapped him about.  But they had no effect on the decision he made during that miserable ride back to Norada, when he determined to see the man Bassett and get the truth out of him if he had to choke it out.

XXIV

Bassett was astounded when he saw Dick’s signature on the hotel register.  It destroyed, in one line, every theory he held.  That Judson Clark should return to Norada after his flight was incredible.  Ten years was only ten years after all.  It was not a lifetime.  There were men in the town who had known Clark well.

Nevertheless for a time he held to his earlier conviction, even fought for it.  He went so far as to wonder if Clark had come back for a tardy surrender.  Men had done that before this, had carried a burden for years, had reached the breaking point, had broken.  But he dismissed that.  There had been no evidence of breaking in the young man in the office chair.  He found himself thrown back, finally, on the story of the Wasson woman, and wondering if he would have to accept it after all.

The reaction from his certainty in the cabin to uncertainty again made him fretful and sleepless.  It was almost morning before he relaxed on his hard hotel bed enough to sleep.

He wakened late, and telephoned down for breakfast.  His confusion had not decreased with the night, and while he got painfully out of bed and prepared to shave and dress, his thoughts were busy.  There was no doubt in his mind that, in spite of the growth of the town, the newcomer would be under arrest almost as soon as he made his appearance.  A resemblance that could deceive Beverly Carlysle’s brother could deceive others, and would.  That he had escaped so long amazed him.

By the time he had bathed he had developed a sort of philosophic acceptance of the new situation.  There would be no exclusive story now, no scoop.  The events of the next few hours were for every man to read.  He shrugged his shoulders as, partially dressed, he carried his shaving materials into the better light of his bedroom.

With his face partially lathered he heard a knock at the door, and sang out a not uncheerful “Come in.”  It happened, then, that it was in his mirror that he learned that his visitor was not the waiter, but Livingstone himself.  He had an instant of stunned amazement before he turned.

“I beg your pardon,” Dick said.  “I was afraid you’d get out before I saw you.  My name’s Livingstone, and I want to talk to you, if you don’t mind.  If you like I’ll come back later.”

Bassett perceived two things simultaneously; that owing probably to the lather on his face he had not been recognized, and that the face of the man inside the door was haggard and strained.

“That’s all right.  Come in and sit down.  I’ll get this stuff off my face and be with you in a jiffy.”