hill, the figure in his room, the conversation by the annex door—like a moving picture film the story of that weird night unrolled itself. The film was not yet at an end. He had given himself the night to think. Soon he would stand before the girl of the station; soon he must answer her questions. What was he to do with the fortune that lay beneath the feet of the mayor of Reuton at this minute? He hardly knew.
He was ready to descend at last, and came into the parlor of his suite with greatcoat and hat. In reply to Mr. Cargan's unasked question, he said:
"I'm going up the mountain presently to reason with our striking cook."
"You ain't going to leave this inn, Magee," said the mayor.
"Not even to bring back a cook. Come, Mr. Cargan, be reasonable. You may go with me, if you suspect my motives."
They went out into the hall, and Mr. Magee passed down the corridor to the farther end, where he rapped on the door of Miss Thornhill's room. She appeared almost immediately, buried beneath furs and wraps.
