"How do I know this is really your name?" he asked.
"You don't know it," I retorted, growing suddenly impatient. "But I'll have a dozen people down from New York to identify me, if you doubt it. Meanwhile, let me go to bed."
"All right," he said, pocketing the card with sudden decision. "But it will have to be under guard. I don't want to place you under arrest, but at the same time I can't run the risk of letting you get away. You've no objection to the company of an officer?"
"None whatever, if he'll only let me sleep."
"All right. But you'd better have that hand dressed before you turn in. We brought a doctor along on the off-chance of needing him. Suppose you let him look at it."
"Thank you," I assented, and the doctor was summoned.
"It's not in the least serious," he assured me, after a moment's examination, and the wound was soon washed and bandaged.
"That feels better," I said, as he pressed the last strip of plaster into place. "Now I'm ready for bed."
"Sherman," said the chief to one of his men, "go with this gentleman. Don't let him out of your sight till you hear from me. Let him go to bed, if he wants to, and don't disturb him; but if he tries to escape, stop him if you have to shoot him."
I did my best to repress a smile, and succeeded in turning it into a yawn. After all, there was no need to offend these fellows unnecessarily, and the chief was undoubtedly right in thinking me not entirely clear of suspicion. So Sherman and I went down the street together, in the grey light of the dawn—the second consecutive one that I had witnessed—and we rather astonished the night clerk at the Sheridan by mounting together to the room which was assigned to me. My guardian sat down against the door, after assuring himself that escape by the window was impossible. As for me, I tumbled into bed as quickly as I could and fell asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow.