“I wish I could think so,” responded Folsom sadly; “but I spoke to Judson very harshly. I thought I had reason to be angry, and I guess I had, but I should not have spoken in that way. I came here just now to beg his pardon. He said at the time that he should die, and I told him he’d better. Heavens, to think that I should have hounded him to his death!” Mr. Folsom was terribly distressed. The crowd that had gathered at the clerk’s desk listened breathlessly. “You may be entirely right,” said Claymore quietly, “but I think not. I heard the conversation you refer to.” “You heard it?” “Yes; I was with Mr. Judson at the time.” “Ah! I didn’t see you. Then you heard his words?” “I did, and, as I say, you may be right, but I think differently.” “How can you?” asked Mr. Folsom eagerly; “if there’s a ray of hope for a different explanation, in the name of Heaven speak up, man!” “Mr. Judson had a bitter enemy,” said Claymore. “An enemy! Do you know this?” “I heard a man threaten to kill him this morning.” For an instant Mr. Folsom was too astonished to speak, and stood with his mouth open, staring at Claymore. Then he brought his fist down on the clerk’s desk with a bang, and exclaimed: “Then, I’ll be responsible for tracking that enemy to the ends of the earth, if necessary. I’ll telegraph for Nick Carter to come. He’s in this part of the country, and I can get him here by evening, if not sooner.” There was a murmur from the crowd. Everybody, unless it was Claymore, seemed to think that this would be the best possible plan. After a moment, he asked: “Is Carter a friend of yours?” “I’m proud to say he is,” replied Folsom. “We’ve been friends since boyhood, and he will do anything for me, I’m sure. I can’t rest as long as there’s any shadow of doubt that I worried poor Judson to his death.” “The local police on such a plain case----” began Claymore, but Folsom interrupted: “I said I’d take the responsibility, and I will. Let the local police do all they can. It won’t do any harm to have Nick Carter also on the spot. I’ll wire him at once.” He reached for a pad of telegraph blanks, and wrote a dispatch, which he gave to the clerk with a request that it be sent to the office in a hurry. A bell boy went off with it on the run. Then Folsom turned again to Claymore. “Who is this enemy of Judson’s you speak of?” he asked. A man who had been quietly listening to the conversation touched Claymore on the shoulder. “Don’t answer that question just yet,” he said. At the same time he pulled aside the lapel of his coat. Claymore and Folsom both saw a badge pinned to his vest. “Come into the office a minute, both of you,” added the stranger. The two men followed him into the hotel manager’s private room, and the door was closed.