-turned in his recent tussle, after which he tried the drawers of
Jimmie's desk. They were unlocked. A careful search brought nothing to
light but receipted bills, some loose change, old dinner cards, theater
programs, tea invitations, and several packages of cigarettes.

Turning from the desk Kent walked over to the table which he knew was
Philip Rochester's property; he recalled having once seen Jimmie place
some papers there by mistake; having done so once, the mistake might
have occurred again. Taking out his partner's bunch of keys, he soon
found one that fitted and opened the drawers. He had half completed his
task, without finding any clew to the missing securities, when he was
interrupted by the sound of the opening of the front door, and had but
time to slam the drawers shut and pocket the keys when the night clerk
of the hotel stepped inside the apartment and, closely followed by a
sandy-haired man, walked into the living room. He halted abruptly at
sight of Kent.

"Good evening, Mr. Kent," he exclaimed, and took in at a glance the
orderly arrangement of the room. "Pardon my unceremonious entrance, but
I had no idea you were here, sir; we received a telephone message that a
burglar had broken in here."

"You did!" Kent stared at him. Was he right, after all, in his
conjecture; had the man been Philip Rochester? It would seem so, for who
else, after taking refuge elsewhere, would have telephoned a warning of
burglars to the hotel office? "Have you any idea who sent the message,
Mr. Stuart?"

"I have not; it was an out-side call--" Stuart turned to his companion.
"Sorry I brought you here on an idiotic chase, Mr. Ferguson."

"That's all right," responded the detective good naturedly. "Would you
like me to look through the apartment just to see if any one really
is concealed on the premises, Mr. Kent?" he asked, and added quickly,
seeing Kent hesitate, "I am from the central office; Mr. Stuart can
vouch for me."

Kent's hesitation vanished. "I'd be obliged if you would, Ferguson." As
he spoke he led the way to Rochester's bedroom. "Come with us, Stuart,"
as the clerk loitered behind.

"Guess not, sir; I'm needed down at the desk, we are short-handed
to-night. Let me know how the hunt turns out," and he stepped into the
vestibule. "Good night."

"Good night," called Kent, and he accompanied Ferguson as far as the
bathroom door, then returned to his inspection of Rochester's table. He
had just completed h