your absence."

"Very clever idea, I am sure. The fellow deserves credit. But did he
tell you which communicating door he came through?"

Mr. Barnes looked around and was amazed to find that the only door in
the room opened on the hall. The story told by his man was thus an
impossibility. A thought came to him quickly and he said:

"You have changed to another room since then. You were at that time in
No. 234."

"And this is number 342, a floor higher up. But you are wrong; I have
not changed my room. I will explain how your man has made this mistake.
I knew when I came here that your spy had probably followed me. I was
tired of the espionage. This is what I did. I registered and was given
number 234. I was shown to the room and at once sent for the clerk. When
he came up I asked for another room, and desired him not to make any
change on the register, as I had an inquisitive friend who would not
hesitate to walk right up if he knew what room I was in. I explained
that I wished to avoid him. My request was granted. I suppose your man
asked for a room near that of his "friend Mr. Mitchel." The clerk at
once thought him to be the man whom I wished to avoid, and gave him a
room next to 234, which of course satisfied him, and I am sure pleased
me as well."

Mr. Barnes was supremely disgusted, especially as, during the
interview, he had become thoroughly satisfied that Mr. Mitchel was
really sick and troubled with a bad cough. He returned to New York
puzzled.

CHAPTER XII.

THE HISTORY OF THE RUBY.

During the next two weeks there were numerous references to the ruby
robbery in the daily papers. Interviews were published purporting to
have been held with every one of note who had been present. The police
were twitted with their inability to discover the thief. The detectives
from the central office came and went mysteriously, and were silent to
all questioners, the while maintaining an expression which plainly said,
"We could an' if we would." One or two persons were even arrested, only
to be promptly discharged when brought before the committing
magistrates. So that interest in the affair soon died out. Another crime
occurred, and all New York had something else to talk of. The Remsen
ruby was forgotten by the masses.

Mr. Barnes, however, thought of little else. He racked his brain for a
promising starting-point, and the more he thought, the more he was
tempted to make a trip to New Orleans, to unravel