"
"For Friday's train?"
"Yes. The Western Express."
That was all I wanted to know. I hurried home, procured a couple
of hastily packed bags, and took the afternoon train for the
West.
Chapter III.
A MODERN MARANA.
My journey westward was an eventful one; but this is not a
"History of Tom Jones," and I shall refrain from detail. Denver I
reached at last, after a week's stop-over in Kansas City. It was
a delightful adventure--but it had nothing to do with the story.
I left the train at the Rocky Mountain city about the middle of
the afternoon. And now, what to do? I think I am not a fool, but
I certainly lack the training of a detective, and I felt
perfectly rudderless and helpless as I ordered the taxi-driver to
take me to the Alcazar Hotel.
I was by no means sure that Harry had come to Denver. He was
traveling with a bundle of animated caprice, a creature who would
have hauled him off the train at Rahway, New Jersey, if she had
happened to take a fancy to the place. At the moment, I
reflected, they might be driving along Michigan Boulevard, or
attending a matinee at the Willis Wood, or sipping mint juleps at
the Planters'.
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