t, you say? No, I think not. He claimed to know me? That is
rather strange. Who did he think I was?"

Miss La Rue bit her lip. She had found her match evidently, but would
strike harder.

"A reporter on the _Star_. Naturally we couldn't help wondering what
you was doing out here. You are in the newspaper business, ain't you?"

"Yes," realising further concealment was useless, "but on my vacation.
I thought I explained all that to Mr. Beaton. I am not exactly a
reporter. I am what they call a special writer--sometimes write for
magazines like _Scribbler's_, other times for newspapers. I do
feature-stuff."

"Whatever that is."

"Human-interest stories; anything unusual; strange happenings in
every-day life, you know."

"Murders, and--and robberies."

"Occasionally, if they are out of the ordinary." She took a swift
breath, and made the plunge. "Like the Frederick Cavendish case--do
you remember that?"

Miss La Rue stared at her across the darkening room, but if she changed
colour the gloom concealed it, and her voice was steady enough.

"No," she said shortly, "I never read those things. What happened?"

"Oh, nothing much. It occurred to my mind because it was about the
last thing I worked on before leaving home. He was very rich, and was
found dead in his apartments at the Waldron--evidently killed by a
burglar."

"Did they get the fellow?"

"No, there was no clue; the case is probably forgotten by this time.
Let's speak about something else--I hate to talk shop."

Miss La Rue stood up, and shook out her skirt.

"That's what I say; and it seems to me it would be more social if we
had something to drink. You ain't too nice to partake of a cocktail,
are you? Good! Then we'll have one. What's the hotelkeeper's name?"

"Timmons."

"Do you suppose he'd come up if I pounded on the floor?"

Miss Donovan slipped off the bed.

"I don't believe he is in the office. He went up the street just
before dark. You light the lamp while I'll see if I can find the
Chinaman out in the hall."

She closed the door behind her, strode noisily down the hall, then
silently and swiftly retraced her steps and stooped silently down to
where a crack yawned in the lower panel. That same instant a match
flared within the room and was applied to the wick of the lamp. The
narrow opening gave only a glimpse of half the room--the wash-stand,
the chair, and lower part of the bed. She saw Miss La Rue drop the