general
tendency to tilt over the right eye. And here suddenly I realized the
difference between Miss Barbara Wallace, a scientist's daughter, and
some feminine sleuth we might have had with us.

"Take her back to the St. Dunstan, Worth," I suggested. Then, as I saw
they were both going to resist, "She can't go in here. I'll wait for you
if you like."

"Don't know why we shouldn't let Bobs in on the fun, same as you and me,
Jerry." That was the way Worth put it. I took a side glance at his
attitude in this affair--that he'd bought and was enjoying an eight
hundred thousand dollar frolic, offering to share it with a friend; and
saying no more, I wheeled and swung open the door for them. The man at
the desk looked at me, calling a quick,

"Hello, Jerry--what's up?"

"Hello, Kite. How'd you come here?"

The Kite as a hotelman was a new one on me. Last I knew of him, he was
in the business of making book at the Emeryville track; and I
supposed--if I ever thought of him--that he'd followed the ponies south
across the border. As I stepped close to the counter, he spoke low, his
look one of puzzled and somewhat anxious inquiry.

"Running straight, Jerry. You may ask the Chief. What can I do for you?"

Rather glad of the luck that gave me an old acquaintance to deal with, I
told him, described Clayte, Worth and Miss Wallace standing by
listening; then asked if Kite had seen him pass through the hotel going
out the previous day at some time around one o'clock, carrying a brown,
sole leather suitcase.

The readers of the Sunday papers who had been lured from their known
standards of good manners into the sending of sundry interested glances
in the direction of our sparkling girl, took the cue from the Kite's
scowl to bury themselves for good in the voluminous sheets they held,
each attending strictly to his own business, as is the etiquette of
places like the Gold Nugget.

"About one o'clock, you say?" Kite muttered, frowning, twisted his head
around and called down a back passage, "Louie--Oh, Louie!" and when an
overalled porter, rather messy, shuffled to the desk, put the low toned
query, "D'you see any stranger guy gripping a sole leather shirt-box
snoop by out yestiddy, after one, thereabouts?" And I added the
information,

"Medium height and weight, blue eyes, light brown hair, smooth face."

Louie looked at me dubiously.

"How big a guy?" he asked.

"Five feet seven or eight; weighs about hundred and forty.