The more he thought, however, the more wretched his situation became. He saw that getting here did not exactly clear up the ground. The firm would probably employ detectives to watch him--Pinkerton men or agents of Mooney and Boland. They might arrest him the moment he tried to leave Canada. So he might be compelled to remain here months, and in what a state! Back at the hotel Hurstwood was anxious and yet fearful to see the morning papers. He wanted to know how far the news of his criminal deed had spread. So he told Carrie he would be up in a few moments, and went to secure and scan the dailies. No familiar or suspicious faces were about, and yet he did not like reading in the lobby, so he sought the main parlour on the floor above and, seated by a window there, looked them over. Very little was given to his crime, but it was there, several "sticks" in all, among all the riffraff of telegraphed murders, accidents, marriages, and other news. He wished, half sadly, that he could undo it all. Every moment of his time in this far-off abode of safety but added to his feeling that he had made a great mistake. There could have been an easier way out if he had only known. He left the papers before going to the room, thinking thus to keep them out of the hands of Carrie. "Well, how are you feeling?" he asked of her. She was engaged in looking out of the window. "Oh, all right," she answered. He came over, and was about to begin a conversation with her, when a knock came at their door. "Maybe it's one of my parcels," said Carrie. Hurstwood opened the door, outside of which stood the individual whom he had so thoroughly suspected. "You're Mr. Hurstwood, are you?" said the latter, with a volume of affected shrewdness and assurance. "Yes," said Hurstwood calmly. He knew the type so thoroughly that some of his old familiar indifference to it returned. Such men as these were of the lowest stratum welcomed at the resort. He stepped out and closed the door. "Well, you know what I am here for, don't you?" said the man confidentially. "I can guess," said Hurstwood softly. "Well, do you intend to try and keep the money?" "That's my affair," said Hurstwood grimly. "You can't do it, you know," said the detective, eyeing him coolly. "Look here, my man," said Hurstwood authoritatively, "you don't understand anything about this case, and I can't explain to you. Whatever I intend to do I'll do without advice from the outside. You'll have to excuse me." "Well, now, there's no use of your talking that way," said the man, "when you're in the hands of the police. We can make a lot of trouble for you if we want to. You're not registered right in this house, you haven't got your wife with you, and the newspapers don't know you're here yet. You might as well be reasonable." "What do you want to know?" asked Hurstwood. "Whether you're going to send back that money or not." Hurstwood paused and studied the floor.