“Confound it!” the miner ejaculated under his breath, when he caught sight of the man’s face. “That isn’t my man. That fool boy has gone off on a wild-goose chase!” He remained where he was and waited for the return of the bell boy, who came back sheepishly. “It was the wrong man, sir,” the boy explained. “So I saw,” was the answer. “Well, here’s something for your trouble, anyway. I can’t imagine how my friend got away so quickly.” “Thank you, sir!” said the boy, as he possessed himself of a coin. “Maybe he caught a car.” “That’s probably what he did,” agreed Crawford. The boy left him and walked swiftly back to the hotel, but the miner followed much more slowly. He had been very favorably impressed by Chick and could not account for his sudden disappearance. “Did I bore him as much as that?” he wondered. “He might at least have left some excuse, I should think, even if I had taken up too much of his time. If he had stayed he could have advised me about Jimmy.” He had failed to find Stone in his room, and the place seemed to indicate that his partner had not been there since morning. Yet, despite his anxiety, he was very reluctant to do anything, since he knew that if Stone were all right, he would greatly resent anything which looked like meddling with his affairs. When Crawford returned to the lobby of the Windermere, however, he found that his brief absence had brought developments. These developments were to have considerable bearing on his affairs, although he was not to know of that for the present. While he was out of the building, Stone had returned, and had met Doctor Follansbee. When Crawford reappeared, the clerk beckoned to him. “Mr. Stone has just come in, Mr. Crawford, and has gone to his room with a friend,” he was informed. CHAPTER XV. A BAD COMBINATION. A look of great relief passed over Crawford’s face as he thanked the clerk. “Friend, eh?” he said to himself. “I didn’t think he had a single one in these parts, except myself, and I’m afraid he doesn’t think I’m his friend now.” The elevator was not at hand; consequently, he walked upstairs to the second floor. Passing along the corridor, he halted in front of number twenty-two and knocked. “Who is that?” came the thick voice of James Stone. “It’s only Win Crawford,” he returned, turning the knob of the door. He found it locked, however, and his partner’s voice called out impatiently: “I’m busy just now, and don’t want to be disturbed.” With a shrug of his shoulders, and a return of the old troubled look on his face, Crawford turned away and went on to his own room to dress for dinner. “Don’t want to be disturbed,” the mine owner thought, half bitterly. “There’s no mistake about it. All of his old affection for me is dead. Heaven only knows how it’s come about, but I’m sure it isn’t my fault!”