A week had now passed since the inquest, and, while Miss Tuttle still remained at liberty, it was a circumscribed liberty which must have been very galling to one of her temperament and habits. She rode and she walked, but she entered no house unattended nor was she allowed any communication with Mr. Jeffrey. Nevertheless she saw him, or at least gave him the opportunity of seeing her. Each day at three o’clock she rode through K Street, and the detective who watched Mr. Jeffrey’s house said that she never passed it without turning her face to the second-story window, where he invariably stood. No signs passed between them; indeed, they scarcely nodded; but her face, as she lifted it to meet his eye, showed so marked a serenity and was so altogether beautiful that this same detective had a desire to see if it maintained like characteristics when she was not within reach of her brother-in-law. Accordingly, the next day he delegated his place to another and took his stand farther down the street. Alas! it was not the same woman’s face he saw; but a far different and sadder one. She wore that look of courage and brave hope only in passing Mr. Jeffrey’s house. Was it simply an expression of her secret devotion to him or the signal of some compact which had been entered into between them? Whichever it was, it touched my heart, even in his description of it. After advising with Jinny I approached the superintendent, to whom, without further reserve, I opened my heart. The next day I found myself on the train bound for Tampa, with full authority to follow Curly Jim until I found him. BOOK III THE HOUSE OF DOOM XIX. IN TAMPA When I started on this desperate search after a witness, war had been declared, but no advance as yet ordered on Cuba. But during my journey south the long expected event happened, and on my arrival in Tampa I found myself in the midst of departure and everything in confusion. Of course, under such conditions it was difficult to find my man on the instant. Innumerable inquiries yielded no result, and in the absence of any one who would or could give me the desired information I wandered from one end of the camp to the other till I finally encountered a petty officer who gave signs of being a Rough Rider. Him I stopped, and, with some hint of my business, asked where James Calvert could be found. His answer was a stare and a gesture toward the hospital tents. Nothing could have astonished me more. “Sick?” I cried. “Dying,” was his answer. Dying! Curly Jim! Impossible. I had misled my informant as to the exact man I wanted, or else there were two James Calverts in Tampa. Curly Jim, the former cowboy, was not the fellow to succumb in camp before he had ever smelt powder. “It is James Calvert of the First Volunteer Corps I am after,” said I. “A sturdy fellow—” “No doubt, no doubt. Many sturdy fellows are down. He’s down to stay. Typhoid, you know. Bad case. No hope from the start. Pity, but—”