The editor was enormously interested at once. "Harriman is on the night force and at home how, but I'll see what I can do." By punching various bells and speaking into mysteriously ramifying tubes he was finally able to say: "The man is at a little hotel just across the river. I think it is called the St. Nicholas. It isn't a nice place; you'd better take some one with you. Mind you, I don't vouch for the truth of that article; the boy may be mistaken about it." Mrs. Raimon turned on her heel and vanished. She had her information and acted upon it. She was never finer than when she knelt at Harold's bedside and laid her hand gently on his forehead. She could not speak for a moment, and when her eyes cleared of their tears and she felt the wide, dry eyes of the man searching her, a spasm of pain contracted her heart. "He don't know me!" she cried to the slatternly maid, who stood watching the scene with deep sympathy. Harold spoke petulantly: "Go away and tell Mary I want her. It costs too much for her to sing, or else she'd come. These people won't let me get up, but Reynolds will be here soon and then something will rip wide open. They took my guns and my saddle. If I had old Kintuck here I could ride to Mary. She said she'd sing for me every Sunday. Look here, I want ice on my head. This pillow has been heated. I don't want a hot pillow--and I don't want my arms covered. Say, I wish you'd send word to old Jack. I don't know where he is, but he'd come--so will Reynolds. These policemen will have a hot time keeping me here after they come. It's too low here, I must take Mary away--it's healthier in the mountains. It ain't so hot----" Out of this stream of loosely uttered words the princess caught and held little more than the names "Jack" and "Mary." "Who is Jack?" she softly asked. Harold laughed. "Don't you know old freckle-faced Jack? Why, I'd know Jack in the dark of a cave. He's my friend--my old chum. He didn't forget me when they sent me to jail. Neither did Mary. She sung for me." "Can't you tell me Mary's name?" "Why, it's just Mary, Mary Yardwell." "Where does she live?" "Oh, don't bother me," he replied irritably. "What do you want to know for?" The princess softly persisted, and he said: "She lives in the East. In Chicago. It's too far off to find her. It takes five days to get down there on a cattle train, and then you have to look her up in a directory, and then trail her down. I couldn't find her." The princess took down Mary's name and sent a messenger to try to find the address of this woman who was more to the delirious man than all the rest of the world. As he tossed and muttered she took possession of the house. "Is this the worst room you have? Get the best bed in the house ready. I want this man to have the cleanest room you have. Hurry! Telephone to the Western Palace and ask Doctor Sanborn to come at once--tell him Mrs. Raimon wants him."