“That depends on the bridge. What is the town of Latimer saying about an attempted murder, in broad daylight, in a great hotel like this?” “People are talking less about that than they are about the ease with which the man who perpetrated the outrage managed to slip away.” While Nick was talking with Jerome, he was changing his make-up. Presently he stood forth a younger man than “Nicholas” by some twenty years. The spreading “Dundrearies” were gone and a black mustache ornamented his upper lip. His clothes were different, and he was utterly unlike “Nicholas” in manner as well as appearance. “By Jinks!” exclaimed Jerome. “You’re a great hand at that sort of thing, Mr. Nicholas.” “Charlie Gordon now,” corrected Nick. “Mr. Gordon, then,” grinned the officer. A rap fell on the door. Nick motioned to Jerome to answer the summons. The caller proved to be the chief, and he was at once admitted. He looked at Nick in surprise, and then cast a quick look at the bed. “Well, you’ll pass,” he said, as the truth dawned on him. “What’s new?” asked the detective. “I called to report on that telephone matter.” “Good! The man you sent out must have been a live one to get back with a report as soon as this.” “I attended to it myself.” “Much obliged, chief. Did you experience any difficulty?” “None at all. At central they told me that the call for Nicholas, at the Central House, came from a pay station in a drug store. “I got the number of the drug store, and found that it is less than a block from here. “At about the time you received your call, one of the clerks in the store remembered seeing a short, thickset man----” “Short and thickset, eh?” interposed Nick. “Yes, and with red hair and a full red beard. This man went into the box. When he came out he came in a hurry, and lost no time in getting out of the store and away.” “That’s A-1, chief.” “Have you a theory?” “Regarding the bank robbers?” “Yes.” “I’m full of theories. I shall want your help in a few minutes. Will you wait here until I come back? I can promise you that I won’t be gone long.” “I’ll wait.” Thereupon Nick let himself quietly out of the room and descended the stairs to the lower hall. Passing through the hall into the street, he re-entered the hotel by the office doors. Going to the counter, he drew the register in front of him and began looking it over. He finally found what he wanted, which was the following, written in an easy and flowing hand: “Leonard Martin, Chicago.” This entry had been made on the preceding Saturday, and Nick saw that Leonard Martin had been assigned to Room 13. Directly following this signature were three names, as follows: “Leslie Hibbard, Morris Markham and Emil Z. Schiffel,” all hailing from the same place that claimed Mr. Martin. But there were check marks opposite the names of these three guests, showing that they had balanced their accounts and left. “May I see the letters and telegrams?” Nick asked.