"If they find out I'm Red Thorpe."
"How'll they learn you're Red Thorpe?" The Mayor dismissed the matter with a wave of a great hand. "No danger at all."
"I suppose not. But I've been fearing this for ten years, and now that my work is coming to its climax I can't help fearing it more than ever."
"Two more weeks and you'll be on your way to Colorado," the Mayor assured him. "By-the-bye, have you had an answer yet from that sanitarium at Colorado Springs?"
"Yes. This morning. I want to show it to you; it's in the other room."
Rogers walked over the strip of carpet through the open door into the living room. The next instant David and the Mayor heard his strained voice demand:
"What're you doing here?"
They both hurried to the door. On Rogers's couch lay Jimmie Morgan. The half-swept floor, the broom leaning against a chair, and the breath of the bottle, combined to tell the story of Morgan's presence.
"What're you doing here?" Rogers demanded, his thin fingers clutching the old man's shoulder.
Morgan rose blinking to his elbows, then slipped to his feet.