on possessed, and knew how to operate, a typewriter.

There was more than this, however, about the name on the card, to
convince Duvall that E. W. Norman was the woman he sought. He recalled
with distinctness the two salient features of the typewriting in all the
letters sent to Miss Morton, the misplaced "a," and the broken lower
right-hand corner of the capital "W." He looked closely at the two
letters in the name before him. The "a" was misplaced, the "W" minus its
lower right-hand corner. The evidence seemed to be complete.

The next thing to be considered was, how could he first obtain entrance
to the apartment building, and, subsequently, to the flat of the woman
posing as E. W. Norman? Were he to ring the latter's bell, he felt quite
sure she would not respond by unfastening the front door, but she would
on the contrary be warned, and even if unable to escape, might destroy
the evidence he hoped to find in her possession.

On the other hand, to ring the bell of one of the other apartments might
result in the unlatching of the front door, but might involve
explanations, difficult, in the circumstances, to make. There was no
help for it, however. Duvall pressed the bell belonging to the family
named Scully.

It was a long time before there was any response. Duvall had almost
begun to despair of getting one, when he heard the clicking of the
electric latch, and found that he could turn the knob and enter the
hallway.

He had barely done so, when at big, burly-looking man, who might have
been a bartender, or a head waiter, appeared in the door of one of the
ground floor apartments, clad only in his night clothes.

"Well--whatcha want?" he growled.

Duvall stepped up to him quickly, and spoke in a pleasant voice.

"I'm mighty sorry," he said. "I rang your bell by mistake. Pardon me."

The man glared at him, suspicion blazing from his eyes.

"That's an old one," he retorted. "How do I know you ain't a burglar?"

"Do I look like one?" Duvall asked.

The man ignored this question.

"Rang my bell by mistake, did you? Who do you want to see?"

"I have some business with a lady on the fourth floor." He went closer
to the man, and lowered his voice. "I'm a detective, my friend," he
whispered confidentially. "I'm here on a very important case."

The big man's eyes widened.

"Th' hell you are!" he exclaimed. "Central office?"

"No. Private."

"H--m." The man nodded slowly. "All right. But I guess I'll keep