"Miss Ford moved away from here three months ago," the woman snapped.

"Will you please give me her present address?" the detective exclaimed,
somewhat taken aback.

"I don't know it. She didn't say where she was going. Good night!" A
moment later the window above them was closed with a slam.

The two men stood staring at each other in the utmost disappointment.
They had expected a more favorable outcome of their expedition.

"How long has she been with you?" Duvall asked, turning to his
companion.

"I don't know. Certainly over three months, or we shouldn't have this
address on our books. I suppose, when she changed it, she omitted to
notify us. What are we going to do now?"

"There isn't anything we can do, until morning. If Miss Marcia Ford
reports for work to-morrow, and you see that she is the woman who
fainted in the theater to-night, have her arrested at once. If she
doesn't report for work, at least we shall know that she is the woman we
are after."

"That isn't much consolation," Mr. Baker grumbled.

"I don't agree with you. Having the woman's name, knowing her
appearance, we are certain to catch her, sooner or later. And in the
meanwhile, I do not think that she will attempt anything further so far
as Miss Morton is concerned. We are too close on her trail, for that."

"I hope you are right," said the motion picture man. "Well, I guess I'll
go along home. I'll be at the studio first thing in the morning,
however, and I suppose you will be there too."

"By all means. I am most curious to see whether our reasoning to-night
has been correct."

"Shall I take you to your hotel in my car?"

"No, thanks. I'll take a taxi. Good night."

"Good night."

A few moments later, Duvall was speeding up Fifth Avenue, his brain
still puzzling over the curious contradictions which the events of the
night had developed. On one point he felt secure, however. He was
certain that the woman who had so narrowly escaped him earlier in the
evening would not soon again attempt anything against Ruth Morton.

Arrived at his hotel, he asked for his key. The man behind the desk,
with a queer look, handed him along with it a slip of paper. On it was
written: "Mrs. Bradley wishes Mr. John Bradley to come to her room at
the moment he returns."

"When was this message left?" the detective asked.

"Oh--nearly two hours ago. The time is stamped on the back of it, sir."

Duvall turned the card over, and saw from the stamp on t