He saw before him two sun-darkened men whose soft gray hats proclaimed that they were newly come out of the West.  The one was a fellow whose face had been made stern by hard work and few pleasures in life.  The other was one who, apparently, had never worked at all.  There was something about him that impressed Robert Macklin.  He might be a young Western millionaire, for instance.  Aside from his hat he was dressed with elaborate care.  He wore gray spats, and his clothes were obviously well tailored, and his necktie was done in a bow.  On the whole he was a very cool, comfortable looking chap.  The handkerchief, which protruded from his breast pocket and showed an edging of red, was a trifle noisy; and the soft gray hat was hardly in keeping, but, on the whole, he was a dashing-looking chap.  The bagging trousers and the blunt-toed shoes of his companion were to Robert Macklin a distinct shock.  He centered all of his attention instantly on the younger of his two visitors.

“You’re Mr. Macklin, I guess,” said the handsome man.

“I am,” said Macklin, and, stepping back from his door, he invited them in with a sweeping gesture.

There were only two chairs, but the younger of the strangers immediately made himself comfortable on the bed.

“My name’s Doone,” he said, “and this is Mr. William Gregg.  We think that you have some information which we can use.  Mind if we fire a few questions?”

“Certainly not,” said Robert Macklin.  At the same time he began to arm himself with caution.  One could never tell.

“Matter of fact,” went on Ronicky smoothly, lighting a tailor-made cigarette, while his companion rolled one of his own making, “we are looking for a lady who was on one of your trains.  We think you may possibly remember her.  Here’s the picture.”

And, as he passed the snapshot to the Pullman conductor, he went on with the details of the date and the number of the train.

Robert Macklin in the meantime studied the picture carefully.  He had a keen eye for faces, but when it came to pretty faces his memory was a veritable lion.  He had talked a few moments with this very girl, and she had smiled at him.  The memory made Robert Macklin’s lips twitch just a trifle, and Ronicky Doone saw it.

Presently the dignitary returned the picture and raised his head from thought.  “It is vaguely behind my mind, something about this lady,” he said.  “But I’m sorry to say, gentlemen, I really don’t know you and—­”

“Why, don’t you know us!” broke in Bill Gregg.  “Ain’t my partner here just introduced us?”

“Exactly,” said Robert Macklin.  And his opinion of the two sank a full hundred points.  Such grammar proclaimed a ruffian.

“You don’t get his drift,” Ronicky was explaining to his companion.  “I introduced us, but he doesn’t know who I am.  We should have brought along a letter of introduction.”  He turned to Macklin.  “I am mighty sorry I didn’t get one,” he said.