Hurstwood felt the long-range examination and recognised the type. Instinctively he felt that the man was a detective--that he was being watched. He hurried across, pretending not to notice, but in his mind was a world of thoughts. What would happen now? What could these people do? He began to trouble concerning the extradition laws. He did not understand them absolutely. Perhaps he could be arrested. Oh, if Carrie should find out! Montreal was too warm for him. He began to long to be out of it. Carrie had bathed and was waiting when he arrived. She looked refreshed--more delightful than ever, but reserved. Since he had gone she had resumed somewhat of her cold attitude towards him. Love was not blazing in her heart. He felt it, and his troubles seemed increased. He could not take her in his arms; he did not even try. Something about her forbade it. In part his opinion was the result of his own experiences and reflections below stairs. "You're ready, are you?" he said kindly. "Yes," she answered. "We'll go out for breakfast. This place down here doesn't appeal to me very much." "All right," said Carrie. They went out, and at the corner the commonplace Irish individual was standing, eyeing him. Hurstwood could scarcely refrain from showing that he knew of this chap's presence. The insolence in the fellow's eye was galling. Still they passed, and he explained to Carrie concerning the city. Another restaurant was not long in showing itself, and here they entered. "What a queer town this is," said Carrie, who marvelled at it solely because it was not like Chicago. "It isn't as lively as Chicago," said Hurstwood. "Don't you like it?" "No," said Carrie, whose feelings were already localised in the great Western city. "Well, it isn't as interesting," said Hurstwood. "What's here?" asked Carrie, wondering at his choosing to visit this town. "Nothing much," returned Hurstwood. "It's quite a resort. There's some pretty scenery about here." Carrie listened, but with a feeling of unrest. There was much about her situation which destroyed the possibility of appreciation. "We won't stay here long," said Hurstwood, who was now really glad to note her dissatisfaction. "You pick out your clothes as soon as breakfast is over and we'll run down to New York soon. You'll like that. It's a lot more like a city than any place outside Chicago." He was really planning to slip out and away. He would see what these detectives would do--what move his employers at Chicago would make--then he would slip away--down to New York, where it was easy to hide. He knew enough about that city to know that its mysteries and possibilities of mystification were infinite.