ich
he had stumbled unwittingly was nothing to him personally; had it not
involved both Hawley and Miss Hope, he would have left it unsolved
without another thought. But under the circumstances it became his
own battle. There was a crime here--hidden as yet, and probably not
consummated--involving wrong, perhaps disgrace, to the young girl. He
had rescued her once from out the clutches of this man, and he had no
intention of deserting her now. Whatever her life might be, she was
certainly an innocent victim in this case, deserving his protection. The
memory came to him of her face upturned toward him in that little room
of the Occidental, her eyes tear-dimmed, her lips asking him to come
back to her again. He could not believe her a bad woman, and his lips
compressed, his eyes darkened, with fixed determination. He would dig
into this until he uncovered the truth; he would find out what dirty
trick "Black Bart" was up to.

As he thought this out, not swiftly as recorded, but slowly,
deliberately, piecing the bits together within his mind, blindly feeling
his way to a final conclusion, the boy had sunk back upon the bed,
overcome with liquor, and fallen asleep. Keith stepped over, and looked
down upon him in the dim light. He could recognize something of her
features in the upturned face, and his eyes softened. There was no use
seeking again to arouse him; even had he been sober, he would not have
talked freely. Keith lifted the dangling feet into a more comfortable
position, turned the lamp lower, went out, and latched the door. Two men
were tramping heavily up the stairs, and they turned into the hall at
the very moment he disappeared within his own room. He still retained
his grasp upon the latch, when a voice outside asked:

"What number did you say, Bill--29?"

Keith straightened up as though suddenly pricked by a knife; he could
never forget that voice--it was Hawley's.

Chapter XIX. A Glimpse at Conspiracy

Leaning against the inside of his own door, startled by the rapid
sequence of events, Keith was able, from different sounds reaching him,
to mentally picture most of what occurred in the next room. He heard
Bill sink down into the convenient chair, and drink from the bottle,
while the gambler apparently advanced toward the bed, where he stood
looking down on its unconscious occupant.

"The fool is dead drunk," he declared disgustedly. "We can't do anything
with him to-night."

"I say--throw b