Aided again by my skeleton keys, I hurriedly opened and searched the two valises. They were as honest as they looked.
The first contained a liberal supply of polished linen, a water-proof coat and traveling-cap, together with other articles of clothing, and two or three novels. The second held the clerical black suit worn by Dimber on the evening of his arrival in Trafton; a brace of linen dusters, a few articles of the toilet, and a small six-shooter.
There was nothing else; no concealed jimmy, no "tools" of any description.
It might have been the outfit of a country parson, but for the novels and the revolver. This latter was loaded, and, without any actual motive for so doing, I extracted the cartridges and put them in my pocket.
In another moment I was back in my own room, baffled, disappointed, and puzzled more than before.
Sitting there alone, I drew from my pocket the lately received telegram, and surveyed it once more.
4—. H, c, n, c, e, o, g, k, i, m, b—s, i, a—.
Well might Harris have been puzzled. Arrant nonsense it must have seemed to him, but to me it was simplicity itself. The dispatch was from Carnes, and it said:
"He is coming back."