Hours afterwards he had, of course, found excuses
for David. Accepted them, rather, as a part of
the mystery which wrapped him about. But they
had no effect on the decision he made during that
miserable ride back to Norada, when he determined to
see the man Bassett and get the truth out of him if
he had to choke it out.
Bassett was astounded when he saw Dick’s signature
on the hotel register. It destroyed, in one
line, every theory he held. That Judson Clark
should return to Norada after his flight was incredible.
Ten years was only ten years after all. It was
not a lifetime. There were men in the town who
had known Clark well.
Nevertheless for a time he held to his earlier conviction,
even fought for it. He went so far as to wonder
if Clark had come back for a tardy surrender.
Men had done that before this, had carried a burden
for years, had reached the breaking point, had broken.
But he dismissed that. There had been no evidence
of breaking in the young man in the office chair.
He found himself thrown back, finally, on the story
of the Wasson woman, and wondering if he would have
to accept it after all.
The reaction from his certainty in the cabin to uncertainty
again made him fretful and sleepless. It was
almost morning before he relaxed on his hard hotel
bed enough to sleep.
He wakened late, and telephoned down for breakfast.
His confusion had not decreased with the night, and
while he got painfully out of bed and prepared to
shave and dress, his thoughts were busy. There
was no doubt in his mind that, in spite of the growth
of the town, the newcomer would be under arrest almost
as soon as he made his appearance. A resemblance
that could deceive Beverly Carlysle’s brother
could deceive others, and would. That he had
escaped so long amazed him.
By the time he had bathed he had developed a sort
of philosophic acceptance of the new situation.
There would be no exclusive story now, no scoop.
The events of the next few hours were for every man
to read. He shrugged his shoulders as, partially
dressed, he carried his shaving materials into the
better light of his bedroom.
With his face partially lathered he heard a knock
at the door, and sang out a not uncheerful “Come
in.” It happened, then, that it was in
his mirror that he learned that his visitor was not
the waiter, but Livingstone himself. He had
an instant of stunned amazement before he turned.
“I beg your pardon,” Dick said.
“I was afraid you’d get out before I saw
you. My name’s Livingstone, and I want
to talk to you, if you don’t mind. If
you like I’ll come back later.”
Bassett perceived two things simultaneously; that
owing probably to the lather on his face he had not
been recognized, and that the face of the man inside
the door was haggard and strained.
“That’s all right. Come in and sit
down. I’ll get this stuff off my face
and be with you in a jiffy.”
