He dined in the public dining-room, without seeing either Ralston or Selby, and, being in no mood to cultivate new acquaintances, returned at once to his own room. He lit a cigar and got a book from his bag and settled down to read himself into quietness; but his mind would not free itself from the curious situation in which he found himself, and presently he tossed the book aside and went to the table where he had left the sealed letter addressed to himself. _It was gone_. It had been abstracted from his locked room while he was down at dinner.
Suddenly, as he stood there thinking, there was a sharp "ping," and a pane of his window crashed into splinters and fell into the room. A thud near his head caused him to turn, and there in the wall was a small hole where a bullet had buried itself in the plaster. The third warning!
Burton went down the stairs two steps at a time and out into the street. The hotel was on the main street, and Burton's room on the second floor looked toward the front. Across the street from the hotel was a small park, full of trees and shadows. It was clear that the shot through his front window had come from the direction of this park, and also that it would be futile to try to discover any one who might have been in hiding there. There were a hundred avenues of unseen escape. It was already dark enough to make the streets obscure.
Burton went in and reported the shooting to the clerk. Of the missing letter he said nothing.
"Some boys must have been fooling around in the park with a gun," said the clerk, after viewing the scene of the disaster. "They might have hit you, the idiots. I'll bet they are scared stiff by now,--and serve them right."
"I wish you'd give me another room," said Burton abruptly.
"Why? You don't think they'll try to pot you again, do you?" smiled the clerk.
"I prefer to take another room," said Burton stiffly.
"Oh, very well. The adjoining room is vacant, if that will suit you."
"Yes. You may have my things moved in. Or, hold on. I'll move them in now, with your assistance, and you needn't say anything about the change downstairs."
The clerk took some pains to make it evident that he was suppressing a smile, but Burton did not particularly care what opinion the young man might form of his courage. He had other things in view.