ton. But
for what purpose? The lady's trunk, which had not been disturbed
during the first part of the journey, and had been forwarded at
Stockton untouched before Key's eyes, could not have contained booty to
be disposed of in this forgotten old town.

The register of the hotel bore simply the name of "Mrs. Barker," of
Stockton, but no record of her companion, who seemed to have
disappeared as mysteriously as he came. That she occupied a
sitting-room on the same floor as his own--in which she was apparently
secluded during the rest of the day--was all he knew. Nobody else
seemed to know her. Key felt an odd hesitation, that might have been
the result of some vague fear of implicating her prematurely, in making
any marked inquiry, or imperiling his secret by the bribed espionage of
servants. Once when he was passing her door he heard the sounds of
laughter,--albeit innocent and heart-free,--which seemed so
inconsistent with the gravity of the situation and his own thoughts
that he was strangely shocked. But he was still more disturbed by a
later occurrence. In his watchfulness of the movements of his neighbor
he had been equally careful of his own, and had not only refrained from
registering his name, but had enjoined secrecy upon the landlord, whom
he knew. Yet the next morning after his arrival, the porter not
answering his bell promptly enough, he so far forgot himself as to walk
to the staircase, which was near the lady's room, and call to the
employee over the balustrade. As he was still leaning over the
railing, the faint creak of a door, and a singular magnetic
consciousness of being overlooked, caused him to turn slowly, but only
in time to hear the rustle of a withdrawing skirt as the door was
quickly closed. In an instant he felt the full force of his foolish
heedlessness, but it was too late. Had the mysterious fugitive
recognized him? Perhaps not; their eyes had not met, and his face had
been turned away.

He varied his espionage by subterfuges, which his knowledge of the old
town made easy. He watched the door of the hotel, himself unseen, from
the windows of a billiard saloon opposite, which he had frequented in
former days. Yet he was surprised the same afternoon to see her, from
his coigne of vantage, reentering the hotel, where he was sure he had
left her a few moments ago. Had she gone out by some other exit,--or
had she been disguised? But on entering his room that evening he was
con