After he pushed him through the door there were sounds of a scuffle, and a few minutes later Gardner came back with a bruise on his face.
"He's quiet now, and the bartender will put him to bed," he said.
There was silence for the next few moments, for the group on the veranda had been impressed by the scene; then a man came up the steps.
He was dressed in old brown overalls and carried a riding quirt, but Harding recognized him as the man they had met at the hotel in Montreal.
"Have you got Benson here ?" he asked.
"Sure," said Gardner.

"He's left his mark on my cheek.

Why don't you look after the fool?
You must have come pretty quietly; I didn't hear you until you were half-way up the steps." "Light boots," Clarke answered, smiling; "I bought them from you.

I don't know that I need hold myself responsible for Benson, but I found he wasn't in when I rode past his place and it struck me that he might get into trouble if he got on a jag." He turned and nodded to Blake.
"So you have come up here! I may see you tomorrow, but if Benson's all right I'm going home now." He went into the hotel and soon afterward they heard him leave by another door.

An hour later, when Harding and Blake were in their room, the keen young American brought his fist down on the bedpost with vehemence.
"I tell you," he said, "there's something queer about that fellow Clarke--something even Gardner don't know.