s still trying to
persuade Barrett that I wasn't sick when he walked me to the elevator.
Wanting only to be free, I still had to let him go all the way with me
to the door of my room. But the moment he was gone I hurried out again
and descended to the lobby.

The night clerk knew me; or if he didn't, he knew the Little Clean-Up;
and he was quite willing to talk. Miss Geddis was only temporarily a
guest of the house, he told me. She was with a party of friends from
the East, but her Denver home was with Mrs. Altberg, a widow and a
prominent society woman. Yes, Miss Geddis was quite well known in
social circles; she was reputed to be wealthy, and the clerk understood
that she had originally come to Colorado for her health.

Under the stimulus of a particularly good gift cigar the man behind the
register grew more confidential. Miss Geddis had always impressed him
as being a woman with a history. It was not generally known, he said,
but there was a whisper that she had come perilously near getting
herself dragged into the lime-light as co-respondent in a certain
high-life divorce case. The clerk did not vouch for this, but he did
know that she had been seen often and openly in public with the man in
the case, since the granting of the divorce.

I didn't sleep very well that night, as may be imagined; and the
following day I should certainly have taken the first train for Cripple
Creek if business had permitted. But business would not permit. There
was an accumulated difference of some fifteen thousand dollars in ore
values between us and the smelter people, and I was obliged to stay on
with Barrett and help wrangle for our side in the discrepancy dispute.

At dinner time that evening I managed to elude Barrett, and upon going
to the lobby desk for my mail, found a violet-scented envelope
addressed to "Mr. James Bertrand" in a handwriting that I remembered
only too well.

To anyone looking over my shoulder the enclosed note might have read as
a casual and friendly greeting from an old acquaintance. But for me it
spelled out death and destruction.

"Dear 'Bert," it ran. "I am not going to scold you for not speaking to
me last night in the mezzanine parlor; nor for changing your name; nor
for growing a beard. But if you should call this evening between eight
and nine at Mrs. Altberg's house on the Boulevard, you will find me at
home and more than willing to listen to your apologies and explanations.

"AG