Swiftly he glanced at his watch, the girl staring anxiously at him the while. He took out a crumpled time-table. The first train left at two-twenty. As he thrust the time-table back into his pocket, his face relaxed a little and a faint smile twisted the corners of his mouth. “There’s been an unfortunate――mistake, Janet,” he said quietly. “I’ll come up and tell you about it.” He had remembered the one consoling feature of the whole miserable business. Buck would surely find the letter and explain the matter to Brennan. The manager would doubtless be angry, but, after all, it was not as bad as if no word at all had been left. CHAPTER XXXV FOR WANT OF A LIE Locke would scarcely have been so self-contained had he known what had taken place at the hotel about the time he was feverishly pacing the platform at Flat Rock Junction. Through some pretext, Bert Elgin managed to leave the ground a few minutes ahead of the others. He had concealed his nervousness all morning, taking hope from the nonappearance of Lefty on the field, and reveling in Brennan’s openly expressed anger at the puzzling occurrence. But now he felt that he must find out something definite. Arriving at the hotel, he hastened up to the corridor above his own, taking care to use the stairs for the last flight, and made his way to a certain door, which he pushed open without ceremony. For an instant he stood staring curiously around the disordered room. Then a triumphant smile curved his lips, and his eyes danced maliciously. “Looks like the kid worked it, all right,” he said, in a low tone. “I was afraid he might slip up on something. What’s this?” Striding over to the table, he picked up the note addressed to Buck Fargo, opening it without hesitation. Having read it hastily through, he smiled again and thrust it into his pocket. “‘Tell Brennan all about it,’” he quoted, in a jeering voice, “‘and make him understand how I had to go.’ I guess we won’t tell anybody; it’ll be lots more fun to keep ’em guessing till you come back.” He hastened to the door, and stepped out into the hall. “I should say your goose was cooked nice and brown,” he muttered, with venomous satisfaction. “I wouldn’t give a whole lot for your chances with the Hornets after this little performance.” Happily for Lefty’s peace of mind, he guessed nothing of all this. As it was, he had worries enough to keep him company during that maddeningly slow trip back to Ashland. Time and again he went over the situation from the beginning, trying his best to see it from Jim Brennan’s point of view, and always he ended by a despairing grasp on that one frail straw: the manager might forgive the desertion as long as the absent man had done his best to let him know about it beforehand.