"Yes," I answered indifferently. "I suppose you may as well--for one
night."

It was already late in the afternoon, and I had certain investigations
to make before I renewed my interrupted journey in the direction Harvey
Farnham was believed to have taken--going toward the setting sun.

I knew well enough that I was seriously handicapped as a detective by my
complete amateurishness, and possibly a little by my own keen personal
anxiety, which did not tend to cool my head or my pulses when coolness
was needed; but though I would fain have had advice from some clever
professional expert, the reports of the New York police had certainly
not been such as would encourage me to seek assistance from the force.
It appeared to me that I must "dree my weird" alone.

In the handsome, typically American room that was allotted to me I sat
down to map out my future course, as well as I could see it.

Either the brisk-mannered young "clerk" had shown a slight reserve in
answering my eager questions regarding Harvey Farnham, or I had been
morbidly sensitive enough to fancy it in his face and way of speaking.
Doubtless, when the police had been acting in the affair under advices
from London, he had been subjected to a previous catechism concerning
the western millionaire's movements, and if that were the case it was
only natural he should be cautiously inclined. But once I could win his
confidence and thoroughly convince him that I had no connection whatever
with the police, I ventured to hope there might yet be a chance of
learning at least a little more from him than I had been able to glean.

Perhaps it was something in the nature of a sop to Cerberus that I
should have asked for one of the best rooms in the house; and then,
beside, my name written in the visitors' book (or "hotel register," as
it is the fashion to call it in the States) evidently had some meaning
for the young man round whom my hopes centred, for his manner had
decidedly changed for the better when I visited him again after dinner.

He was not particularly busy at the moment, and appeared in the humour
for conversation, asking me of his own free will if it were possible
that I was "Noel Stanton, the traveller."

I did not deny this impeachment, and, moreover, showed myself willing to
be "drawn" on the subject of my explorations. I even went so far as to
relate an adventure at some length (a thing I am thankful to say I have
never been guilty of before or sinc