Bright and new and conspicuous, a gold-lettered sign at Struve's
doorway caught his eye and caused him to remember the wounded left hand
which had been paining him considerably through the long hot day. The
sign bore the name of Dr. V. D. Page with the words Physician and
Surgeon; in blue pencilled letters upon the practitioner's card,
affixed to the brass chain suspending the sign, were the further words:
"Room 5, Struve's Hotel."

The sheriff went to Room 5. It was at the front of the building, upon
the ground floor. The door opened almost immediately when he rapped.
Confronting him was the girl he had encountered at the arroyo. He
lifted his hat, looked beyond her, and said simply:

"I was looking for Dr. Page. Is he in now?"

"Yes," she told him gravely. "Come in, please."

He stepped across the threshold, his eyes trained to quick observation
of details taking in at a glance all there was to be seen. The room
showed all signs of a fresh unpacking, the one table and two chairs
piled high with odds and ends. For the most part the miscellany
consisted of big, fat books, bundles of towels and fresh white napkins,
rubber-stoppered bottles of varicolored contents, and black leather
cases, no doubt containing a surgeon's instruments. Through an open
door giving entrance to the adjoining room he noted further signs of
unpacking with a marked difference in the character of the litter; the
girl stepped quickly to this door, shutting out the vision of a
helter-skelter of feminine apparel.

"It is your hand?" she asked, as in most thoroughly matter of fact