Whatever her purpose, she was gone scarcely a moment, gliding silently back to the chair beside the window, with watchful eyes again fixed on the closed door.  Miss Donovan smiled, and straightened up, well satisfied with her ruse.  It had served to demonstrate that the ex-chorus-girl was far from being as calmly indifferent as she had assumed and it had made equally evident the fact that her visit had an object—­the discovery of why Miss Donovan was in Haskell.  Doubtless she had made the call at Enright’s suggestion.  Very well, the lady was quite welcome to all the information obtained.  Stella opened the door, and the eyes of the two met.

“The Chinaman seems to have gone home,” the mistress of the room said quietly.  “At least he is not on this floor or in the office, and I could see nothing of Timmons anywhere.”

“Then I suppose we don’t drink,” complained Miss La Rue.  “Well, I might as well go to bed.  There ain’t much else to do in this jay town.”

She got up, and moved toward the door.

“If you’re only here viewing the scenery, I guess you won’t remain long.”

“Not more than a day or so.  I am planning a ride into the mountains before leaving,” pleasantly.  “I hope I shall see you again.”

“You’re quite liable to,” an ugly curl to the lip, “maybe more than you’ll want.  Good night.”

Miss Donovan stood there motionless after the door closed behind her guest.  She was conscious of the sting in those final words, the half-expressed threat, but the smile did not desert her lips.  Her only thought was that the other was angry, irritated over her failure, her inability to make a report to her masters.  She looked at the valise on the floor, and laughed outright, but as her eyes lifted once more, she beheld her travelling suit draped over the head-board of the bed, and instantly the expression of her face changed.  She had forgotten hanging it there.  That must have been where the woman went when she disappeared.  It was not to rummage the bed at all, but to hastily run through the pockets of her jacket.  The girl swiftly crossed the room, and flung coat and skirt onto the bed.  She remembered now thrusting the telegram from Farriss into a pocket on the morning of its receipt.  It was gone!

CHAPTER XVI:  CAPTURED

Her first thought was to search elsewhere, although she immediately realised the uselessness of any such attempt.  The message had been in her pocket as she recalled distinctly; she had fully intended destroying it at the same time she had torn up the letter of instruction, but failed to do so.  Now it was in the hands of the La Rue woman, and would be shown to the others.  Stella blew out the light and sat down by the open window endeavouring to figure out what all this would mean.  It was some time before she could recall to memory the exact wording of the telegram, but finally it came to her bit by bit: