A number of mining towns could easily be reached by train from the city.  In these towns many people came and went without notice or comment.  Dorian spent nearly a week in one of them, but he found no clue.  He went to another.  The girl would necessarily have to go to a hotel at first, so the searcher examined a number of hotel registers.  She had been gone now about six months, so the search had to be in some books long since discarded, much to the annoyance of the clerks.

Dorian left the second town for the third which was situated well up in the mountains.  The weather was cold, and the snow lay two feet deep over the hills and valleys.  He became disheartened at times, but always he reasoned that he must try a little longer; and then one day in a hotel register dated nearly five months back, he found this entry: 

“Carlia Davis.”

Dorian’s heart gave a bound when he saw the name.  Carlia was not a common name, and the handwriting was familiar.  But why Davis?  He examined the signature closely.  The girl, unexperienced in the art of subterfuge, had started to write her name, and had gotten to the D in Duke, when the thought of disguise had come to her.  Yes; there was an unusual break between that first letter and the rest of the name.  Carlia had been here.  He was on the right track, thank the Lord!

Dorian enquired of the hotel clerk if he remembered the lady.  Did he know anything about her?  No; that was so long ago.  His people came and went.  That was all.  But Carlia had been here.  That much was certain.  Here was at least a fixed point in the sea of nothingness from which he could work.  His wearied and confused mind could at least come back to that name in the hotel register.

He began a systematic search of the town.  First he visited the small business section, but without results.  Then he took up the residential district, systematically, so that he would not miss any.  One afternoon he knocked on the door of what appeared to be one of the best residences.  After a short wait, the door was opened by a girl, highly painted but lightly clad, who smiled at the handsome young fellow and bade him come in.  He stepped into the hall and was shown into what seemed to be a parlor, though the parlors he had known had not smelled so of stale tobacco smoke.  He made his usual inquiry.  No; no such girl was here, she was sorry, but—­the words which came from the carmine lips of the girl so startled Dorian that he stood, hat in hand, staring at her, and shocked beyond expression.  He know, of course, that evil houses existed especially in mining towns, inhabited by corrupt women, but this was the first time he had ever been in such a place.  When he realized where he was, a real terror seized him, and with unceremonious haste he got out and away, the girl’s laughter of derision ringing in his ears.

Dorian was unnerved.  He went back to his room, his thoughts in a whirl, his apprehensions sinking to gloomy depths.  What if Carlia should be in such a place?  A cold sweat of suffering broke over him before he could drive away the thought.  But at last he did get rid of it.  His mind cleared again, and he set out determined to continued the search.  However, he went no more into the houses by the invitation of inmates of doubtful character, but made his inquiries at the open door.