"Must be a new lodger," said Mr. Bud. "He was comin' from these stairs when I run agin 'im. I never seen 'im before."

"You can't truly say you saw him even then," replied Larcher, guiding himself by the stair wall.

"Oh, he turned around outside, an' I got the street-light on him. A good-lookin' young chap, to be roomin' on these premises."

"I didn't see his face," replied Larcher, stumbling.

"Look out fur yur feet. Here we are at the top."

Mr. Bud groped to his door, and fumblingly unlocked it. Once inside his room, he struck a match, and lighted one of the two gas-burners.

"Everything same as ever," said Mr. Bud, looking around from the centre of the room. "Books, table, chairs, stove, bed made up same's I left it--"

"h.e.l.lo, what's this?" exclaimed Larcher, having backed against a hollow metallic object on the floor and knocked his head against a ropey, rubbery something in the air.

"That's a gas-heater--Mr. Davenport made me a present of it. It's convenienter than the old stove. He wanted to pay me fur the gas it burned when he was here sketchin', but I wouldn't stand fur that."

The ropey, rubbery something was the tube connecting the heater with the gas-fixture.

"I move we light 'er up, and make the place comfortable; then we can talk this matter over," continued Mr. Bud. "Shet the door, an' siddown."

Seated in the waves of warmth from the gas-stove, the two went into the details of the case.

Larcher not withholding the theory of Mr. Lafferty, and even touching briefly on Davenport's misunderstanding as to Florence Kenby.

"Well," said Mr. Bud, thoughtfully, "if he reely went into a hallway in these parts, it would prob'ly be the hallway he was acquainted with. But he wouldn't stay in the hallway. He'd prob'ly come to this room. An' he'd no doubt bring his parcels here. But one thing's certain: if he did that, he took 'em all away again. He might 'a' left somethin' in the closet, or under the bed, or somewheres."

A search was made of the places named, as well as of drawers and wash-stand, but Mr. Bud found no additions to his property. He even looked in the coal-box,--and stooped and fished something out, which he held up to the light. "h.e.l.lo, I don't reco'nize this!"

Larcher uttered an exclamation. "He _has_ been here! That's the note-book cover the money was in. He had it the night before he was last seen. I could swear to it."

"It's all dirty with coal-dust," cautioned Mr. Bud, as Larcher seized it for closer examination.

"It proves he's been here, at least. We've got him traced further than the detective, anyhow."

"But not so very fur, at that. What if he was here? Mind, I ain't a-sayin' one thing ur another,--but if he _was_ contemplatin' a voyage, an' had fixed to be took aboard late at night, what better place to wait fur the ship's boat than just this here?"

"But the money must have been handled here--taken out of this cover, and the cover thrown away. Suppose somebody _had_ seen him display that money during the day; _had_ shadowed him here, followed him to this room, taken him by surprise?"

"No signs of a struggle, fur as I c'n see."

"But a single blow with a black-jack, from behind, would do the business."

"An' what about the--remains?"

"The river is just across the street. This would occur at night, remember."

Mr. Bud shook his head. "An' the load o' parcels--what 'ud become o'

them?"

"The criminal might convey them away, too, at his leisure during the night. They would be worth something."

Evidently to test the resourcefulness of the young man's imagination, Mr.

Bud continued, "But why should the criminal go to the trouble o' removin'

the body from here?"

"To delay its discovery, or create an impression of suicide if it were found," ventured Larcher, rather lamely. "The criminal would naturally suppose that a chambermaid visited the room every day."

"The criminal 'ud risk less by leavin' the body right here; an' it don't stand to reason that, after makin' such a haul o' money, he'd take any chances f'r the sake o' the parcels. No; your the'ry's got as much agin'

it, as the detective's has fur it. It's built on nothin' but random guesswork. As fur me, I'd rather the young man did get away with the money,--you say the other fellow'd done him out o' that much, anyhow.

I'd rather that than somebody else got away with him."

"So would I--in the circ.u.mstances," confessed Larcher.

Mr. Bud proposed that they should go down to the saloon and "tackle the soup." Larcher could offer no reason for remaining where they were. As they rose to go, the young man looked at his fingers, soiled from the coal-dust on the covers.

"There's a bath-room on this floor; we c'n wash our hands there," said Mr. Bud, and, after closing up his own apartment, led the way, by the light of matches, to a small cubicle at the rear of the pa.s.sage, wherein were an ancient wood-encased bathtub, two reluctant water-taps, and other products of a primitive age of plumbing. From this place, discarding the aid of light, Mr. Bud and his visitor felt their way down-stairs.

"Yes," spoke Mr. Bud, as they descended in the darkness, "one 'ud almost imagine it was true about his bein' pursued with bad luck. To think of the young lady turnin' out staunch after all, an' his disappearin' just in time to miss the news! That beats me!"

"And how do you suppose the young lady feels about it?" said Larcher. "It breaks my heart to have nothing to report, when I see her. She's really an angel of a girl."

They emerged to the street, and Mr. Bud's mind recurred to the stranger he had run against in the hallway. When they had reseated themselves in the saloon, and the soup had been brought, the old man said to the bartender:

"I see there's a new roomer, Mick?"

"Where?" asked Mick.

"In the house here. Somewheres up-stairs."

"If there is, he's a new one on me," said Mick, decidedly.

"What? _Ain't_ there a new roomer come in since I was here last?"

"No, sir, there ain't there."

"Well, that's funny," said Mr. Bud, looking to Larcher for comment. But Larcher had no thought just then for any subject but Davenport, and to that he kept the farmer's attention during the rest of their talk. When the talk was finished, simultaneously with the soup, it had been agreed that Mr. Bud should "nose around" thereabouts for any confirmation of Lafferty's theory, or any trace of Davenport, and should send for Larcher if any such turned up.

"I'll be in town a week ur two," said the old man, at parting. "I been kep' so long up-country this time, 'count o' the turkey trade--Thanksgivin' and Chris'mas, y'know. I do considerable in poultry."

But some days pa.s.sed, and Larcher heard nothing from Mr. Bud. A few of the newspapers published Detective Lafferty's unearthings, before Larcher had time to prepare Miss Kenby for them. She hailed them with gladness as pointing to a likelihood that Davenport was alive; but she ignored all implications of probable guilt on his part. That the amount of Bagley's loss through Davenport was no more than Bagley's rightful debt to Davenport, Larcher had already taken it on himself delicately to inform her. She had not seemed to think that fact, or any fact, necessary to her lover's justification.

CHAPTER X.

A NEW ACQUAINTANCE