“I only had a glimpse, but have no recollection of ever seeing him before. You heard no name?”
“'Wild Bill' called him either Scott, or Scotty—if this is the same man.”
Keith's jaw set, the fighting light burning in his eyes. That was the name of the fellow rooming with Willoughby, the one who seemed to be Hawley's special assistant. Was he here as a spy? His hands clinched on the rail. He was anxious to go down and wring the truth out of him, but instead, he compelled his eyes to smile, turning back to the girl.
“A mere accident probably; but about my request? May I talk with you a few moments alone?”
She bowed, apparently still dissatisfied regarding his lengthy conversation with Christie, yet permitted him to follow down the hall. She held open the door of “15,” and he entered silently, not wholly understanding the change in her manner. She stood before the dresser, drawing off her gloves and removing her hat.
“Will you be seated, Captain; the arm-chair by the window is the more comfortable.” She turned toward him, almost shyly, yet with womanly curiosity which would not be stilled. “Was your call upon Miss Maclaire very interesting? Did you admire her very much?”
Keith's eyes lifted to her face, his ears quick to detect the undertone in her voice.
“Interesting? yes, for I was seeking after information, and met with some success. As to the other question, I am not sure whether I admire the lady or not. She is bright, pretty, and companionable, and in spite of her profession, at heart, I believe, a good woman. But really, Miss Hope, I was too deeply immersed in my purpose to give her personality much consideration. Among other things we spoke of you.”
“Of me? Why?”
“I told her something of our adventures together; of how both Hawley and I had been confused. She was anxious to learn who you were, but unfortunately, I have never, even yet, heard your name.”