ceedingly tired, yet in no degree sleepy. She
rested there, with wide-open eyes, listening until the distant door
creaked again, and she heard the footsteps of the men in the hall.
They had not remained in the chorus girl's room long, nor was anything
said outside to arouse her suspicions. Reassured, Miss Donovan
snuggled down into her pillow, unable to distinguish where the men
went, but satisfied they had sought their rooms. They would attempt
nothing more that night, and she had better gain what rest she could.
It was not easy falling asleep, in spite of the silence, but at last
she dropped off into a doze.

Suddenly some unusual noise aroused her, and she sat upright, unable
for the moment to comprehend what had occurred. All was still,
oppressively still; she could hear the pounding of her own heart. Then
something tingled at the glass of her window, sharply distinct, as
though a pebble had been tossed upward. Instantly she was upon her
feet, and had crossed the room, her head thrust out. The light in the
office had been extinguished, and the night was black, yet she could
make out dimly the figure of a man close in against the side of the
house, a mere hulking shadow. At the same instant he seemed to move
slightly, and some missile grazed her face, and fell upon the floor,
striking the rug with a dull thud. She drew back in alarm, yet
immediately grasped the thought that this must be some secret message,
some communication from Westcott.

Drawing down the torn curtain, she touched a match to the lamp and
sought the intruding missile. It had rolled beneath the bed--a small
stone with a bit of paper securely attached. The girl tore this open
eagerly, her eyes searching the few lines:

Must see you to-night. Have learned things, and am going away. Go
down back stairs, and meet me at big cottonwood behind hotel; don't
fail.

J. W.

Her breath came fast as she read, and crunched the paper into the palm
of her hand. She understood, and felt no hesitancy. Westcott had made
discoveries so important he must communicate them at once and there was
no other way. He dare not come to her openly at that hour. Well, she
was not afraid--not of Jim Westcott. Even in her hurry she was dimly
conscious of the utter, complete confidence she felt in the man; even
of the strange interest he had inspired. She paused in her hasty
dressing, wondering at herself, dimly aware that a new feeling partly
actuated he