He went out at once and made an arrangement for a car, and on returning
notified the clerk that he was going to leave, and asked to have his
bill made out. After some hesitation he said: "I'll pay three-twenty
too, while I'm at it. Friend of mine there, going with me. Yes, up to
to-night."
As he turned away he saw the short, heavy figure of Wilkins coming in.
He stood back and watched. The sheriff went to the desk, pulled the
register toward him and ran over several pages of it. Then he shoved it
away, turned and saw him.
"Been away, haven't you?" he asked.
"Yes. I took a little horseback trip into the mountains. My knees are
still not on speaking terms."
The sheriff chuckled. Then he sobered.
"Come and sit down," he said. "I'm going to watch who goes in and out of
here for a while."
Bassett followed him unwillingly to two chairs that faced the desk and
the lobby. He had the key of Dick's room in his pocket, but he knew that
if he wakened he could easily telephone and have his door unlocked.
But that was not his only anxiety. He had a sudden conviction that
the sheriff's watch was connected with Dick himself. Wilkins, from a
friendly and gregarious fellow-being, had suddenly grown to sinister
proportions in his mind.
And, as the minutes went by, with the sheriff sitting forward and
watching the lobby and staircase with intent, unblinking eyes, Bassett's
anxiety turned to fear. He found his heart leaping when the room
bells rang, and the clerk, with a glance at the annunciator, sent boys
hurrying off. His hands shook, and he felt them cold and moist. And all
the time Wilkins was holding him with a flow of unimportant chatter.
"Watching for any one in particular?" he managed, after five minutes or
so.
"Yes. I'll tell you about it as soon as--Bill! Is Alex outside?"
Bill stopped in front of them, and nodded.
"All right. Now get this--I want everything decent and in order. No
excitement. I'll come out behind him, and you and Bill stand by. Outside
I'll speak to him, and when we walk off, just fall in behind. But keep
close."
Bill wandered off, to take up a stand of extreme nonchalance inside the
entrance. When Wilkins turned to him again Bassett had had a moment to
adjust himself, and more or less to plan his own campaign.
"Somebody's out of luck," he commented. "And speaking of being out of
luck, I've got a sick man on my hands. Friend of mine from home. We've
got to catch the midnight, too."