“If I had gone straight to work, everything might have come around all right even then. But I didn't. I had that what's-the-use feeling. And I stopped in at the Palmer House bar to get something to sort of pull me together. “While I was there, who should come up to the bar and order a drink but Prent McMakin.” “Yes!” says Colonel Tom, as near excited as he ever got. “Yes,” says Armstrong, “nobody else. We saw each other in the mirror behind the bar. I don't know whether you ever noticed it or not, Tom, but McMakin's eyes had a way of looking almost like cross-eyes when he was startled or excited. They were a good deal too near together at any time. He gave me such a look when our eyes met in the mirror that, for an instant, I thought that he intended to do me some mischief--shoot me, you know, for taking his bride-to-be away from him, or some fool thing like that. But as we turned toward each other I saw he had no intention of that sort.” “Hadn't he?” says Colonel Tom, mighty interested. “No,” says the doctor, looking at Colonel Tom very puzzled, “did you think he had?” “Yes, I did,” says the colonel, right thoughtful. “On the contrary,” says Armstrong, “we had a drink together. And he congratulated me. Made me quite a little speech, in fact; one of the flowery kind, you know, Tom, and said that he bore me no rancour, and all that.” “The deuce he did!” says Colonel Tom, very low, like he was talking to himself. “And then what?” “Then,” says the doctor, “then--let me see--it's all a long time ago, you know, and McMakin's part in the whole thing isn't really important.” “I'm not so sure it isn't important,” says the colonel, “but go on.” “Then,” says Armstrong, “we had another drink together. In fact, a lot of them. We got awfully friendly. And like a fool I told him of my quarrel with Lucy.” “_Like_ a fool,” says Colonel Tom, nodding his head. “Go on.” “There isn't much more to tell,” says the doctor, “except that I made a worse idiot of myself yet, and left McMakin about two o'clock in the afternoon, as near as I can recollect. Somewhere about ten o'clock that night I went home. Lucy was gone. I haven't seen her since.” “Dave,” says Colonel Tom, “did McMakin happen to mention to you, that day, just why he was in Chicago?” “I suppose so,” says the doctor. “I don't know. Maybe not. That was twenty years ago. Why?” “Because,” says Colonel Tom, very grim and quiet, “because your first thought as to his intention when he met you in the bar was _my_ idea also. I thought he went to Chicago to settle with you. You see, I got to Chicago that same afternoon.” “The same day?” “Yes. We were to have come together. But I missed the train, and he got there a day ahead of me. He was waiting at the hotel for me to join him, and then we were going to look you up together. He found you first and I never did find you.” “But I don't exactly understand,” says the doctor. “You say he had the idea of shooting me.”