The secretary obeyed as one who may not do otherwise, and left the stateroom door ajar. A moment later, he heard a tap at the door of Gertrude's room, and then the President and his daughter left the car together. Quatremain slammed down the cover of his desk, snatched his hat, and followed them. He had paid the servile price, and he would at least gratify his curiosity. He caught sight of them in the crowd streaming out toward the Colorado Central train, and scored the first point when he observed that the President made a detour to avoid passing the open door of the telegraph office. Then he kept them in view till he saw Miss Vennor give her hand to Burton at the steps of one of the narrow-gauge cars. At that moment, Mrs. Burton, who was comfortably established in the midst of a carful of the Tadmorians, chanced to look out of the window. She saw the President and his daughter come swiftly across the platform, saw her husband step out to meet them and shake hands with Gertrude, remarked the quick flash of glad surprise on the young girl's face, and the nervous anxiety with which the President consulted his watch, and was immediately as well apprised of the inwardness of the little plot as if she had devised it herself. "Oh! _oh!_" she said to herself, with indignant emphasis; "that venerable old tyrant is turning her over to us to get her out of Fred's way! _And he hasn't told her that Fred isn't going!_" Now, to the Emily Burton type of woman-kind, the marring of a plot is only less precious than the making of one. The little lady had never been known to think deeply, but a grain of swift wit is sometimes worth an infinity of tardy logic. Whatever intervened, the conclusion was clear and definite; Brockway's chance must be rescued at all hazards--and there were only two minutes in which to do it. She scanned the throng on the platform eagerly, hoping to catch sight of him, but the faces were all strange save one. That was the face of the President's private secretary; and, without a moment's hesitation, she beckoned him. Quatremain saw the signal, and made his way to her window, taking care to keep as many human screens as possible between himself and the group at the car steps. "Mrs. Burton, I believe," he said, lifting his hat. "Yes"--hurriedly. "Do you know Mr. Brockway?" Quatremain bowed. "Do you know where he is now?" "Yes; he's over in the telegraph office." "Will you take him a message from me, quickly?" "Certainly, with pleasure." "Then tell him I say he is going to be lost if he doesn't catch this train; he'll understand. And _please_ hurry--there isn't a second to spare!"