By the time he had bathed he had developed a sort of philosophic
acceptance of the new situation. There would be no exclusive story now,
no scoop. The events of the next few hours were for every man to read.
He shrugged his shoulders as, partially dressed, he carried his shaving
materials into the better light of his bedroom.

With his face partially lathered he heard a knock at the door, and sang
out a not uncheerful "Come in." It happened, then, that it was in
his mirror that he learned that his visitor was not the waiter, but
Livingstone himself. He had an instant of stunned amazement before he
turned.

"I beg your pardon," Dick said. "I was afraid you'd get out before I
saw you. My name's Livingstone, and I want to talk to you, if you don't
mind. If you like I'll come back later."

Bassett perceived two things simultaneously; that owing probably to the
lather on his face he had not been recognized, and that the face of the
man inside the door was haggard and strained.

"That's all right. Come in and sit down. I'll get this stuff off my face
and be with you in a jiffy."

But he was very deliberate in the bathroom. His astonishment grew,
rather than decreased. Clearly Livingstone had not known him. How, then,
had he known that he was in Norada? And when he recognized him, as he
would in a moment, what then? He put on his collar and tied his tie
slowly. Gregory might be the key. Gregory might have found out that he
had started for Norada and warned him. Then, if that were true, this man
was Clark after all. But if he were Clark he wouldn't be there. It was
like a kitten after its tail. It whirled in a circle and got nowhere.