He sat down, and when the dog came and placed a head on his knee he patted it absently. He wanted to go, but he had a queer feeling that when he went he went for good. “I've cared for you for years,” he said. “I've been a poor lot, but I'd have been a good bit worse, except for you.” And again: “Only last night I made up my mind that if you'd have me, I'd make something out of myself. I suppose a man's pretty weak when he puts a responsibility like that on a girl.” She yearned over him, rather. She made little tentative overtures of friendship and affection. But he scarcely seemed to hear them, wrapped as he was in the selfish absorption of his disappointment. When she heard the postman outside and went to the door for the mail, she thought he had not noticed her going. But when she returned he was watching her with jealous, almost tragic eyes. “I suppose you hear from him by every mail.” “There has been nothing to-day.” Something in her voice or her face made him look at her closely. “Has he written at all?” “The first day he got there. Not since.” He went away soon, and not after all with the feeling of going for good. In his sceptical young mind, fed by Clare's malice, was growing a comforting doubt of Dick's good faith. XXVII When Wilkins had disappeared around the angle of the staircase Bassett went to a chair and sat down. He felt sick, and his knees were trembling. Something had happened, a search for Clark room by room perhaps, and the discovery had been made. He was totally unable to think or to plan. With Dick well they could perhaps have made a run for it. The fire-escape stood ready. But as things were--The murmuring among the crowd at the foot of the stairs ceased, and he looked up. Wilkins was on the staircase, searching the lobby with his eyes. When he saw Bassett he came quickly down and confronted him, his face angry and suspicious. “You're mixed up in this somehow,” he said sharply. “You might as well come over with the story. We'll get him. He can't get out of this town.” With the words, and the knowledge that in some incredible fashion Dick had made his escape, Bassett's mind reacted instantly. “What's eating you, Wilkins?” he demanded. “Who got away? I couldn't get that tongue-tied bell-hop to tell me. Thought it was a fire.” “Don't stall, Bassett. You've had Jud Clark hidden upstairs in three-twenty all day.” Bassett got up and towered angrily over the sheriff. The crowd had turned and was watching. “In three-twenty?” he said. “You're crazy. Jud Clark! Let me tell you something. I don't know what you've got in your head, but three-twenty is a Doctor Livingstone from near my home town. Well known and highly respected, too. What's more, he's a sick man, and if he's got away, as you say, it's because he is delirious. I had a doctor in to see him an hour ago. I've just arranged for a room at the hospital for him. Does that look as though I've been hiding him?”