And with this fever of sordid passion the summer temperature had increased.  For the last two weeks the thermometer had stood abnormally high during the day-long sunshine; and the metallic dust in the roads over mineral ranges pricked the skin like red-hot needles.  In the deepest woods the aromatic sap stood in beads on felled logs and splintered tree-shafts; even the mountain night breeze failed to cool these baked and heated fastnesses.  There were ominous clouds of smoke by day that were pillars of fire by night along the distant valleys.  Some of the nearer crests were etched against the midnight sky by dull red creeping lines like a dying firework.  The great hotel itself creaked and crackled and warped though all its painted, blistered, and veneered expanse, and was filled with the stifling breath of desiccation.  The stucco cracked and crumbled away from the cornices; there were yawning gaps in the boarded floors beneath the Turkey carpets.  Plate-glass windows became hopelessly fixed in their warped and twisted sashes, and added to the heat; there was a warm incense of pine sap in the dining-room that flavored all the cuisine.  And yet the babble of stocks and shares went on, and people pricked their ears over their soup to catch the gossip of the last arrival.

Demorest, loathing it all in his new-found bitterness, was nevertheless impatient in his inaction, and was eagerly awaiting a telegram from Stacy; Barker had disappeared since luncheon.  Suddenly there was a commotion on the veranda as a carriage drove up with a handsome, gray-haired woman.  In the buzzing of voices around him Demorest heard the name of Mrs. Van Loo.  In further comments, made in more smothered accents, he heard that Van Loo had been stopped at Canyon Station, but that no warrant had yet been issued against him; that it was generally believed that the bank dared not hold him; that others openly averred that he had been used as a scapegoat to avert suspicion from higher guilt.  And certainly Mrs. Van Loo’s calm, confident air seemed to corroborate these assertions.

He was still wondering if the strange coincidence which had brought both mother and son into his own life was not merely a fancy, as far as she was concerned, when a waiter brought a message from Mrs. Van Loo that she would be glad to see him for a few moments in her room.  Last night he could scarcely have restrained his eagerness to meet her and elucidate the mystery of the photograph; now he was conscious of an equally strong revulsion of feeling, and a dull premonition of evil.  However, it was no doubt possible that the man had told her of his previous inquiries, and she had merely acknowledged them by that message.

Demorest found Mrs. Van Loo in the private sitting-room where he and his old partners had supped on the preceding night.  She received him with unmistakable courtesy and even a certain dignity that might or might not have been assumed.  He had no difficulty in recognizing the son’s mechanical politeness in the first, but he was puzzled at the second.