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Updated: May 15, 2025
He managed it very adroitly, carrying in his old suitcase the hat, coat, shoes and tie he had bought in Sacramento, changing into them in the men's washroom in the Sacramento depot, and emerging therefrom the Harry Romaine who rented room 19 in the Whatcheer House.
"Who's looking for me? What are you talking about ?" It was Garland's turn to pause. For a considering moment he sought his words, then he gave them in short, telegraphic sentences: "End of August. The tules opposite the Ariel Club. Twelve thousand. Whatcheer House, Sacramento. Harry Romaine."
It was all muddy and ragged, the lower half of the letter gone the piece about you got torn out by accident I guess. As I see it he happened to have the paper and when he got the sacks out of the ground, put some of 'em in it. Then when he was in the Whatcheer House he stuffed it in the hole under the floor. It was the handiest way to get rid of it."
This turned on his ability to insinuate himself into the Whatcheer House and by direct observation find out the nature of the business that required an alias and a disguise. Jim said it could easily be done. By the payment of a small sum five dollars he could induce the present room boy in the Whatcheer House to feign illness, and be installed as a substitute.
He noted every detail unshined, brown, low shoes, an overcoat faded across the shoulders, a Stetson hat with a sweat-stained band, no collar and a flashy tie. He did not think that anyone, unless on the watch as he was, would have recognized Mayer thus garbed. From there he had trailed the man to the Whatcheer House.
Crowder found his man standing by the pedestal on which the good ship Bonaventure spreads its shining sails before the winds of romance. A quiet hail and they were strolling side by side to a bench sheltered by a growth of laurel. Mayer had appeared at the Whatcheer House the day before at noon.
For the rest his work was done. He had paid the Whatcheer room boy and seen him reinstated, had followed Mayer to the depot, viewed his transformation there, and ridden with him on the night train back to San Francisco. To Crowder's commending words he murmured a smiling deprecation. What concerned him most was his "prize money," which was promised on Mark's return.
He studied himself in the blotched and wavy mirror and nodded in grave approval. He might have been an artisan, a small clerk, or a traveling salesman routed through the country towns. Half an hour later saw him at the desk of the Whatcheer House. This was a third-rate men's hotel, a decent enough place where the transient male population from the interior met the restless influx from the coast.
From the stairhead Jim watched him take a seat by the window, and, the suitcase at his feet, pick up a paper and begin to read. It was a rule of the Whatcheer House that a vacated room was subjected to a "thorough cleaning." Translated this meant a run over the floor with a carpet sweeper and a change of sheets.
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