WETHER Fudge really believed all he professed to regarding the mysterious occupant of Room 12 in the brick building on G Street is a question. Fudge, being an author of highly sensational romances, doubtless possessed a little more imagination than common and liked to give it free rein. Probably it is safe to say that he believed about half. Perry, less imaginative and far more practical, had been at first taken in by Fudge and had really credited most if not quite all that Fudge had asserted. When, however, another week passed and nothing startling happened, he began to lose faith. Almost every morning the supposed desperado ate his breakfast in full view of Perry very much as anyone else would have eaten it, rationally clothed and exhibiting absolutely none of the tricks or manners popularly associated with criminals. He did not, for
instance, suddenly pause to glance furtively from
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