n. But that,
while Conniston was quick to note it, was not the change that startled
him. There was an indefinable something in Hapgood's eyes, at the
corners of his thin-lipped mouth, that had not been there before.
Conniston wondered if the hand of this Western country had touched the
inner man as it had the outer, if the new life had found certain small
seeds of strength in the heretofore futile Hapgood and were developing
them?

Hapgood's manner, however, was unchanged, irreproachable. He placed
salt and pepper, bread, butter, whatever it was that Mr. Crawford
wanted, before him before the older man had realized that he wanted
it. His attitude toward Argyl was at all times deferential, eloquent
of respectful admiration. Hapgood was nothing if not urbane. Toward
Conniston, however, he did not once glance. To his way of thinking,
evidently, there were but three people in the room--the wonderfully
masterful Mr. Crawford, the radiantly beautiful Argyl, the deeply
appreciative Hapgood--and certain negligible, necessary furniture.

During the short meal Mr. Crawford spoke little, contenting himself
with a few light remarks to Argyl and the others. Often he ate in
silence, abstractedly. Argyl had looked curiously at him and
thereafter offered few words. Hapgood took his cue from the masterful
Mr. Crawford. Conniston smoked and watched the three of them, his eyes
finding oftenest Argyl and resting longest upon her. Finally, when he
had finished and pushed away his plate, taking the cigar Argyl offered
him, Mr. Crawford spoke shortly, emphatically.

"I got word to-day from the men we have been expecting from Denver.
They have gone to work by now."

"Under Bat Truxton?" demanded Conniston, quickly.

The older man cut off the end of his cigar, rolled the black perfecto
between his lips, and lighted it before he replied.

"They have gone to work," he repeated, as though discussing a matter
of no moment, "for Oliver Swinnerton. Shall we go into the front
room? I want to ask you some questions about the work, Conniston. I
did not have a chance to see Truxton this afternoon."

He rose and led the way into the other room. Conniston, casting a
swift glance at Argyl's face, which had suddenly gone white, followed
him. Argyl had stepped forward as though to go with them when Hapgood
laid a detaining hand lightly, respectfully, upon her arm.

"May I speak with you a moment, Miss Argyl?" he whispered, but not so
low that Connis