Back at the hotel Hurstwood was anxious and yet fearful to see the morning papers.  He wanted to know how far the news of his criminal deed had spread.  So he told Carrie he would be up in a few moments, and went to secure and scan the dailies.  No familiar or suspicious faces were about, and yet he did not like reading in the lobby, so he sought the main parlor on the floor above and, seated by a window there, looked them over.  Very little was given to his crime, but it was there, several “sticks” in all, among all the riffraff of telegraphed murders, accidents, marriages, and other news.  He wished, half sadly, that he could undo it all.  Every moment of his time in this far-off abode of safety but added to his feeling that he had made a great mistake.  There could have been an easier way out if he had only known.

He left the papers before going to the room, thinking thus to keep them out of the hands of Carrie.

“Well, how are you feeling?” he asked of her.  She was engaged in looking out of the window.

“Oh, all right,” she answered.

He came over, and was about to begin a conversation with her, when a knock came at their door.

“Maybe it’s one of my parcels,” said Carrie.

Hurstwood opened the door, outside of which stood the individual whom he had so thoroughly suspected.

“You’re Mr. Hurstwood, are you?” said the latter, with a volume of affected shrewdness and assurance.

“Yes,” said Hurstwood calmly.  He knew the type so thoroughly that some of his old familiar indifference to it returned.  Such men as these were of the lowest stratum welcomed at the resort.  He stepped out and closed the door.

“Well, you know what I am here for, don’t you?” said the man confidentially.

“I can guess,” said Hurstwood softly.

“Well, do you intend to try and keep the money?”

“That’s my affair,” said Hurstwood grimly.

“You can’t do it, you know,” said the detective, eyeing him coolly.

“Look here, my man,” said Hurstwood authoritatively, “you don’t understand anything about this case, and I can’t explain to you.  Whatever I intend to do I’ll do without advice from the outside.  You’ll have to excuse me.”  “Well, now, there’s no use of your talking that way,” said the man, “when you’re in the hands of the police.  We can make a lot of trouble for you if we want to.  You’re not registered right in this house, you haven’t got your wife with you, and the newspapers don’t know you’re here yet.  You might as well be reasonable.”

“What do you want to know?” asked Hurstwood.

“Whether you’re going to send back that money or not.”

Hurstwood paused and studied the floor.

“There’s no use explaining to you about this,” he said at last.  “There’s no use of your asking me.  I’m no fool, you know.  I know just what you can do and what you can’t.  You can create a lot of trouble if you want to.  I know that all right, but it won’t help you to get the money.  Now, I’ve made up my mind what to do.  I’ve already written Fitzgerald and Moy, so there’s nothing I can say.  You wait until you hear more from them.”