CHAPTER XXIV

NEMESIS

With this better understanding of the exciting and brain-wracking incidents of these three days, John Ryder became again his sane and businesslike self. Before he reached his hotel he had evolved a plan for his future course relating to the woman he had married by mistake. Of course, this plan began with the discovery of her whereabouts.

He must have some theory to work on. He could go to the police and ask them to send out a description of his wife and trust to luck that some sharp-eyed detective would see her. That, however, was a method which he abhorred.

If Ruth had come to New York, or if she had gone elsewhere, John Ryder could think of just one way in which she might be traced.

He was convinced now that she was not with White. Ryder had cast that unfortunate individual into the discard entirely. Miss Mont's explanation of the mystery that had involved them all was so clear that Ryder could no longer feel jealous of John B. White.

Indeed the man might have better reason to feel that Ryder had defrauded him. Unintentionally Ryder had substituted himself for White, and had borne off the girl the latter expected to marry, and had made her his wife.

The thing to do now was for Ryder to find her, to explain his own course in the matter, and to convince Ruth that she had, after all, married the right man.

To start on this quest aright, he felt that he must begin at the Pinewood Inn. There was something at Pinewood that he felt sure would aid him in his search for his bride. She must send for the trunks and then he would obtain her address.

Therefore he went back to his hotel with the intention of leaving a call for the early morning train that would take him back to the resort. When he entered the hostelry and approached the desk he was surprised to be told that a lady was waiting for him in one of the hotel parlors.

"Been here for some time, sir. Said she would wait till you came in, no matter how late you were. It must be something important, Mr. Ryder," the clerk told him.

Ryder's heart leaped for joy. His first thought was that it was Ruth. How she could have found his hotel--what had brought her here--he did not stop to question. He followed the bellboy with eager steps to the parlor where, under a dim light, the woman sat waiting for his return.

When John Ryder strode into the room he felt a distinct drop in the temperature of his feelings. This might be a woman that had waited for him, but she was dressed more like a man. A long raincoat wrapped her about, and a felt hat pulled down over her ears disguised her femininity most effectually.

"Miss Solomons!" exclaimed Ryder, as the person rose and turned toward him.

"That's who 'tis," jerked out the house detective of the Pinewood Inn. "I've been waiting for you, Mr. Ryder."

Could it be possible that she had come with some message from Ruth, or information about her? Ryder could not find voice enough in which to ask her. His silence seemed to give Miss Solomons immense satisfaction. Her eyes snapped, and she waved in a commanding way the folded copy of the novel she always carried.

"I've got you! I told 'em I'd find you, all right. Can't fool _me_. You'd better come with me, Mr. Ryder. Don't try any capers."

"What the---- What do you want of me?" demanded the rapidly disillusioned Ryder. He realized that Miss Solomons could have come on no sentimental mission.

"They want you back to Pinewood. You know. You aren't silly enough to refuse to go without extradition papers, are you?"

"What--under--the--sun----"

"Back up!" exclaimed Miss Solomons. "That don't go. You know well enough what they want you for. That deputy sheriff is a dunce. You got away from _him_; but not from me."

"But what have you got to do with the deputy's trouble?"

"Say! Don't fool yourself. I'm a properly appointed officer of the State. That deputy fell down on the job, but I told 'em I'd get you. Come!"

"But what _for_?" demanded John Ryder, suddenly becoming quiet.

"Stealin' that coal. Thought you could get away with two carloads of coal and nobody do nothin' about it?"

"But," pointed out Ryder, "the coal was for the use of the hotel, and you are an employee of the hotel. Where do you come into this?"

"I'm officer of the State first," said Miss Solomons promptly. "It was a dead open and shut robbery. Then you attacked that poor deputy. That's serious. I'm a brother officer----"

"Don't you mean a _sister_ officer?" suggested John Ryder gently.

"Huh! Don't get gay," advised Miss Solomons. "I'm asking if you are going to come peaceably, or must I make trouble for you in this ranch?"

"Where will you take me?"

"If you agree to go back quiet-like to Pinewood, I'll take you right to the station."

"And sit there in a draughty station for five hours or more, waiting for the first train?" he asked indignantly.

"Well----"

"You wouldn't treat a fellow that way, would you, Miss Solomons?" he went on wheedlingly.

"Don't try no soft stuff on _me_," advised the house detective gloomily. "I don't fall for it."

"But can't I go to bed and be called at a proper time to make the train?"

"What's going to happen to me?" she demanded. "Expect me to sleep on the mat outside your door?"

"But can't you go to bed, too? Let us behave humanlike," John Ryder urged. "Just because you are an officer and I am a--er--criminal, shall we say?--we need not both be miserable. _I_ want to sleep."

"I should worry whether you sleep or not," snapped the house detective. "I haven't had much myself lately."

"Well, then?"

"Where do I bunk?" asked Miss Solomons.

"I will telephone down and secure a room for you. Near my own. You may lock me in if you like and keep the key."

"Inside room?" she asked.

"Yes. I can't get out by the window very easily."

"So be it!" she exclaimed. "You're a particular blame fool, Mr. Ryder; but not fool enough to try to escape _me_, I guess. Besides," she added, "here's a note was sent to you. Maybe it'll put you wise to somethin'."

She handed him a sealed envelope. Ryder's heart leaped once and then stopped. It was not addressed in Ruth's handwriting, although his name was written in a feminine hand.

He tore it open, unfolded the paper it contained, and read:

"If you are a man and love R. return immediately.

"ALICE J. BRACK."

Ryder stood holding the note for a full minute while he regained his poise. Who was "Alice J. Brack?" Not Ruth herself. Surely there could not be another mixup in names!

Then, of a sudden, he remembered the white-haired, motherly-looking wife of the fire-eating colonel. It flashed into Ryder's mind that while he was hurrying out of the hotel at Pinewood, Saturday noon, Mrs. Brack had sought to speak to him.

What did she know about his wife and the mystery that had entangled him in its snare? Why, if he loved Ruth, must he return to the Pine wood Inn? He looked up and caught Miss Solomons eying him with so soft a gaze that he was actually startled.

"Oh!" gasped John Ryder, "is she _there_?"

The detective "came to attention" swiftly. Her face hardened to its usual bored expression. She said:

"I don't know anything about the note. It was given to me by the old lady. I'm here to take you back for stealing coal."

"Oh! All right," said John Ryder. "I'll go."

But the detective seemed suddenly more moderate in her demands. "Tell you what," she said. "I'll bunk here."

"Here in the parlor?"

"Yep. 'Twon't hurt _me_."

"In one of these chairs?"

"Good's I us'ally get at night," she declared.

"But, my dear young woman," protested Ryder, "the management of the hotel won't permit anyone to lie around in their parlors all night."

"They'll let me, I guess! I'm a State officer. I've got rights that don't pertain to any old person that just happens to drop into a hotel. Now, you can beat it to your room. I won't let you oversleep. We'll make that six-fifteen train."

But John Ryder needed nobody to awaken him at the proper hour. He was up in good season, and had heard nothing of Miss Solomons when he came out of his bedchamber at half after five in the morning.

He went to the parlor to look for her. There was but a single light burning, and that dimly. The house detective of the Pine wood Inn was sound asleep in her chair. She had evidently succumbed to nature while keeping what she considered proper vigil.

The long-barreled pistol she carried had slipped to the rug at her feet. When Ryder stooped to pick it up before awakening Miss Solomons, he saw that she had dropped her "five-cent thriller" as well.

He picked this up and unfolded the pamphlet curiously. He expected to find a detective story with quite as sensational a title as Jim Howe had suggested. Instead, the title of the story the house detective had been last perusing was:

"Little Laurel's Lovers; Or, Sweethearts' Paths Made Smooth."