And for your own self, but not your old company,
I'll tell you my name. I'm--"
"Wait a moment. Whatever you tell me I'll have to report."
"You can't," she returned imperiously. "It's in confidence."
"I won't accept it so."
"You're a most extraordinary sta--a most extraordinary sort of man. Then
I'll give you this much for yourself, and if your company collects pet
names, you can pass it on. My friends call me Io."
"Yes. I know. You're I.O.W."
"How do you know that? And how much more do you know?"
"No more. A man on the train reported your initials from your baggage."
"I'll feel ever so much better when I have that bag. Is there a hotel
near here?"
"A sort of one at Manzanita. It isn't very clean. But there'll be a
train through to-night and I'll get you space on that. I'd better get a
doctor for you first, hadn't I?"
"No, indeed! All I need is some fresh things."
Banneker set off at a brisk pace. He found the extravagant little
traveling-case safely closed and locked, and delivered it outside his
own door which was also closed and, he suspected, locked.
"I'm thinking," said the soft voice of the girl within. "Don't let me
interrupt your work."
Beneath, at his routine, Banneker also set himself to think; confused,
bewildered, impossibly conjectural thoughts not unmingled with
semi-official anxiety.
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