The eyes of Westcott and Miss Donovan met.  Here was a bit of strange news—­the La Rue woman married, and to a man with a long name beginning with C. The same thought occurred to them both, yet it was evidently useless to question Timmons any longer.  He would know nothing, and comprehend less.  The girl looked tired, completely worn out, and the affair could rest until morning.

“Take Miss Donovan to a room,” Westcott said shortly, “and I’ll run up-stairs and have another look at Cavendish.”

“At who?”

“Cavendish, the wounded man we just carried in.”

“Well, that’s blamed funny.  Say, I don’t remember ever hearin’ that name before in all my life till just now.  Come ter think of it, I believe that was the name in that La Rue girl’s letter.  I got it yere in the desk; it’s torn some, an’ don’t mean nothin’ to me; sounds kinder nutty.”  He threw open a drawer, rummaging within, but without pausing in speech, “Then a fellow blew in yere this mornin’ off the Limited, asking about you, Jim, an’ danged if I don’t believe he said his name was Cavendish.  The register was full so he didn’t write it down, but that was the name all right.  And now you tote in another one.  What is this, anyhow—­a family reunion?”

“You say a man by that name was here—­asking for me?”

“Yep; I reckon he’s asleep up-stairs, for he never showed up at supper.”

“In what room, Pete?”

“Nine.”

Westcott, with a swift word of excuse to Stella, dashed into the hall, and disappeared up the stairway, taking three steps at a time.  A moment later those below heard him pounding at a door; then his voice sounded: 

“This is Jim Westcott; open up.”

Timmons stood gazing blankly at the empty stair-case, mopping his face with a bandanna handkerchief.  Then he removed his horn-rimmed spectacles, and polished them, as though what mind he possessed had become completely dazed.

“Well, I’ll be jiggered,” he confessed audibly.  “What’s a comin’ now, I wonder?”

He turned around and noticed Miss Donovan, the sight of her standing there bringing back a reminder of his duty.

“He was a sayin’ as how likely yer wanted to go to bed, Miss.”

“Not now; I’ll wait until Mr. Westcott comes down.  What is that paper in your hand?  Is that the letter Miss La Rue left?”

He held it up in surprise, gazing at it through his glasses.

“Why, Lord bless me—­it is, isn’t it?  Must have took it out o’ ther drawer an’ never thought of the darned thing agin.”

“May I see it?”

“Sure; ‘tain’t o’ no consequence ter me; I reckon the woman sorter packed in a hurry, and this got lost.  The Chink found it under the bed.”