"I am Harold Chessney," he said, smiling, "and I have in mind a trip to the Rocky Mountains, if I can make my plans in that direction what I wish. But why this should be of interest to you passes my comprehension." Of course this last he thought.
She did not leave him long in doubt.
"Is Louis Ansted going with you?"
"He is if I can prevail upon him to do so. That is part of my errand here at this time, and has to do with the plans I mentioned." And now his face plainly asked the question: "Why do you care?"
She seemed to answer the look.
"He needs to go, Mr. Chessney. He needs help; such help as perhaps you can give him. I don't know. Something must be done for him, and that soon. Mr. Chessney, I hope you will succeed."
There was no time for more. Alice Ansted came up, and claimed the stranger as an acquaintance, and stood talking with him for a moment and expressed extreme anxiety that he should find her brother in the city the next day.
"He is somewhere in town, but we never know where. Still, I could give you a dozen addresses, at any one of which you might find him. I hope you will not return without seeing him."
"I shall not," Mr. Chessney said, decidedly. "Is he inclined to accompany me, do you think? Has he mentioned to you my designs?"