e toward him in the uncertain light.

"It's very lovely," he said, "and dreadfully triste. The air alone is
enough to break your heart."

"My mother, when she wrote it, was unhappy, I imagine----" She swung
slowly around to face the keys again.

"Do you know why she was so unhappy?"

"She fell in love," said the girl over her shoulder. "And it saddened
her life, I think."

He sat motionless for a while. Dulcie did not turn again. Presently he
rose and walked slowly out and down stairs, carrying his letters with
him.

The stolid, mottled-faced German girl was on duty at the desk, and she
favoured him with a sour look, as usual.

"There was a gen'l'man to see you," she mumbled.

"When?"

"Just now. I didn't know you was in."

"Well, why didn't you ring up the apartment and find out?" he
demanded.

She gave him a sullen look:

"Here's his card," she said, shoving it across the desk.

Barres picked up the card. "Georges Renoux, Architect," he read.
"Hotel Astor" was pencilled in the corner.

Barres knit his brows, trying to evoke in his memory a physiognomy to
fit a name which seemed hazily familiar.

"Did the gentleman leave any message?" he asked.

"No."

"Well, please don't make another mistake of this kind," he said.

She stared at him like a sulky sow, her little eyes red with malice.

"Where is Soane?" he inquired.

"Out."

"Where did he go?"

"I didn't ask him," she replied, with a slight sneer.

"I wish to see him," continued Barres patiently. "Could you tell me
whether he was likely to go to Grogans?"

"What's Grogan's?"

"Grogan's Cafe on Third Avenue--where Soane hangs out," he managed to
explain calmly. "You know where it is. You have called him up there."

"I don't know nothin' about it," she grunted, resuming the greasy
novel she had been reading.

But when Barres, now thoroughly incensed, turned to leave, her small,
pig-like eyes peeped slyly after him. And after he had disappeared
through the corridor into the street she hastily unhooked the
transmitter and called Grogan's.

"This is Martha.... Martha Kurtz. Yes, I want Frank Lehr.... Is that
you, Frank?... The artist, Barres, who was pumping Soane the other
night, is after him again. I told you how I listened at the door, and
how I heard that Irish souse blabbing and bragging.... What?...
Sure!... Barres was at the desk just now inquiring if Soane had gone
to Grogan's.... You bet!... Barres is leery since _K17_ hit him