That expresses it. It was always so with her. Look at her record--married to Dudley Ward as a girl. Everything she wanted--except a new husband. And she got him in time. John Ryder, his name was. But he didn't last long. Then--another. He was--what does it matter? I forget. Then me. I, who devoted every waking hour to her voice, to coaching her. It was I, Signor, who taught her the old Italian system of breathing, without which a singer is nothing--nothing. If you will credit it--she did not know it when I met her."

He buried his head emotionally in his hands. Charlie respected the moment.

"And now," went on Mr. Romano, "this boy, this singer--this what's-his-name. Will he command her not to eat pastries--seeking to save that figure once so glorious? Will he prepare her gargle, remind her to use it? Now I recall the name of the third husband--he was Dr. Frederic Swan, a throat specialist. He has lived in Reno since the divorce--no doubt she flirts with him again. She will flirt with me, once she has hooked this boy. Always like that. But now--now she can not even send me the agreed settlement--"

Henry Lee approached. "Pardon, Inspector," he announced. "Truckee three minutes."

Mr. Romano dashed for the door, evidently bound for the Pullman and his baggage. Charlie turned to his compatriot.

"So happy to know you," he said.

"Same for you," replied Henry Lee. "Also, I hope you gain much pleasure from your journey. In part," he added, with a grin. "I am going to watch newspapers."

"Nothing about this in newspapers," Charlie assured him.

"If you will pardon my saying it," replied Henry Lee, "I watch newspapers just the same."

Charlie went on back to his Pullman. Swift dark had fallen outside the windows, the snow was blotted from view. He gathered up his bags, turned them over to the porter and proceeded to don the heavy overcoat he had purchased for this journey--the first such garment he had owned in his life.

When he reached the car platform, Mrs.