“No; I never see the Star.”

“Well, I do, and sometimes she’s damn clever.  I’ll bet she’s the girl.”

“A New York newspaperwoman; well, what do you suppose she is doing out here?  After us?”

Enright had a grip on himself again and slowly relit his cigar, leaning back, and staring out the window.  His mind gripped the situation coldly.

“Well, we’d best be careful,” he said slowly.  “Probably it’s merely a coincidence, but I don’t like her lying to Beaton.  That don’t look just right.  Yet the Star can’t have anything on us:  the case is closed in New York; forgotten and buried nearly a month ago.  Even my partner don’t know where I am.”

“I had to show John the telegram in order to get some money.”

“You can gamble he won’t say anything—­there’s no one else?”

“No; this game ain’t the kind you talk about.”

“You’d be a fool to trust anybody.  So, if there’s no leak we don’t need to be afraid of her, only don’t let anything slip.  We’ll lay quiet and try the young lady out.  Beaton here can give her an introduction to Miss La Rue, and the rest is easy.  What do you say, Celeste?”

“Oh, I’ll get her goat; you boys trot on now while I tog up a little for dinner; when is it, six o’clock?”

“Yes,” answered Beaton, still somewhat dazed by this revealment of Miss Donovan’s actual identity.  “But don’t try to put on too much dog out here, Celeste; it ain’t the style.”

She laughed.

“The simple life, eh!  What does your latest charmer wear—­a skirt and a shirtwaist?”

“I don’t know; she was all in black, but looked mighty neat.”

“Well, I’ll go her one better—­a bit of Broadway for luck.  So-long, both of you, and, Enright, you better come up for me; Ned, no doubt, has a previous engagement with Miss Donovan.”

Mr. Enright paused at the door, his features exhibiting no signs of amusement.

“Better do as Beaton says, make it plain,” he said shortly.  “The less attention we attract the less talk there will be, and this is too damn serious an affair to be bungled.  You hear?”

She crossed over and rested her hands on his arm.

“Sure; I was only guying Ned—­it’s a shirt-waist for me.  I’ll play the game, old man.”

CHAPTER XIII:  THE SHOT OF DEATH

Westcott’s purpose in visiting the La Rosita mine was a rather vague one.  His thought had naturally associated Bill Lacy with whatever form of deviltry had brought Beaton to the neighbourhood of Haskell, and he felt convinced firmly that this special brand of deviltry had some direct connection with the disappearance of Frederick Cavendish.  Just what the connection between these people might prove to be was still a matter of doubt, but as Miss Donovan was seeking this information at the hotel, all that remained for him to do at present was an investigation of Lacy.