The shots had ceased. Now a baying mob ramped through the street, with jangle "Hang him! Hang him! String him up!" Borne on by a hysterical company I saw, first a figure bloody-chested and inert flat in the dust, with stooping figures trying to raise him; then, beyond, a man bareheaded, whiskered, but as white as death, hustled to and fro from clutching hands and suddenly forced in firm grips up the street, while the mob trailed after, whooping, cursing, shrieking, flourishing guns and knives and ropes. There were women as well as men in it. All this turned me sick. From the outskirts of the throng I tramped back to my room and the bath. The hotel was quiet as if emptied; my room was vacant--and more than vacant, for of my clothing not a vestige remained! My bag also was gone. Worse yet, prompted by an inner voice that stabbed me like an icicle I was awakened to the knowledge that every cent I had possessed was in those vanished garments. For an instant I stood paralyzed, fronting the calamity. I could not believe. It was as if the floor had swallowed my belongings. I had been absent not more than five minutes. Surely this was the room. Yes, Number Six; and the beds were familiar, their tumbled covers unaltered. Now I held the bath-room responsible. The scoundrel in the bath had heard, had taken advantage, made a foray and hidden. Out I ran, exploring. Every room door was wide open, every apartment blank; but there was a splashing, from the bath--I listened at the threshold, gently tried the knob--and received such a cry of angry protest that it sent me to the right-about, on tiptoe. The thief was not in the bath. My heart sank as I bolted down for the office. The clerk had reinstated himself behind the counter. He composedly greeted me, with calm voice and with eyes that noted my costume. "You can have your bath as soon as the porter gets back from the hanging, sir," he said. "That is, unless you'd prefer to hurry up by toting your own water. The party now in will be out directly." "Never mind the bath," I uttered, breathless, in a voice that I scarcely recognized, so piping and aghast it was. "I've been robbed--of money, clothes, baggage, everything!" "Well, what at?" he queried, with a glimmer of a smile. "What at? In my room, I tell you. I had just changed to try on these things; the street fight sounded; I was gone not five minutes and nevertheless the room was sacked. Absolutely sacked." "That," he commented evenly, "is hard luck." "Hard luck!" I hotly rejoined. "It's an outrage. But you seem remarkably cool about it, sir. What do you propose to do?" "I?" He lifted his brows. "Nothing. They're not my valuables." "But this is a respectable hotel, isn't it?" "Perfectly; and no orphan asylum. We attend strictly to our business and expect our guests to attend to theirs." "I was told that it was safe for me to leave my things in my room."