"Well, I've converted one heathen, anyway," said Anne as she darted down the corridor, followed by Ira, who announced his intention to "go to the baggage car and dig up his old Prince Albert." In their flight forward they passed the mysterious woman in the stateroom. They were too full of their own mystery to give thought to hers. Mrs. Fosdick went timidly prowling toward the observation car, suspecting everybody to be a spy, as Mallory suspected everybody to be a clergyman in disguise. As she stole along the corridor past the men's clubroom she saw her husband--her here-and-there husband--wearily counting the telegraph posts and summing them up into miles. She tapped on the glass and signalled to him, then passed on. He answered with a look, then pretended not to have noticed, and waited a few moments before he rose with an elaborate air of carelessness. He beckoned the porter and said: "Let me know the moment we enter Utah, will you?" "Yassah. We'll be comin' along right soon now. We got to pass through the big Aspen tunnel, after that, befo' long, we splounce into old Utah." "Don't forget," said Fosdick, as he sauntered out. Ashton perked up his ears at the promise of a tunnel and kept his eye on his watch. Fosdick entered the observation room with a hungry look in his luscious eyes. His now-and-then wife put up a warning finger to indicate Mrs. Whitcomb's presence at the writing desk. Fosdick's smile froze into a smirk of formality and he tried to chill his tone as if he were speaking to a total stranger. "Good afternoon." Mrs. Fosdick answered with equal ice: "Good afternoon. Won't you sit down?" "Thanks. Very picturesque scenery, isn't it?" "Isn't it?" Fosdick seated himself, looked about cautiously, noted that Mrs. Whitcomb was apparently absorbed in her letter, then lowered his voice confidentially. His face kept up a strained pretense of indifference, but his whisper was passionate with longing: "Has my poor little wifey missed her poor old hubby?" "Oh, so much!" she whispered. "Has poor little hubby missed his poor old wife?" "Horribly. Was she lonesome in that dismal stateroom all by herself?" "Oh, so miserable! I can't stand it much longer." Fosdick's face blazed with good news: "In just a little while we come to the Utah line--then we're safe." "God bless Utah!" The rapture died from her face as she caught sight of Dr. Temple, who happened to stroll in and go to the bookshelves, and taking out a book happened to glance near-sightedly her way. "Be careful of that man, dearie," Mrs. Fosdick hissed out of one side of her mouth. "He's a very strange character." Her husband was infected with her own terror. He asked, huskily: "What do you think he is?" "A detective! I'm sure he's watching us. He followed you right in here." "We'll be very cautious--till we get to Utah."