ered there and Cecilie had a little room, also,
pending the disposal he would make of her. Miss Hoffman had rooms of her
own, which she had evidently re-engaged, with a family in a residential
street not far from the hotel.

The clerk told me that De Guerre was out, but that the maid had returned
after having been out alone, for a short time, also. The lobby of the
Vanderveer was fairly crowded with people by this time, and I found no
difficulty in keeping in the background and still seeing pretty much
everything that went on.

It was rather tame, however, and I was still debating whether I should
not do something active, when I happened to glance up and catch sight of
a familiar face. It was Dr. Preston making inquiries for someone of the
room clerk. I dodged back of a pillar and waited, covering myself with
an early morning war extra that repeated the news of the night before.

A few moments later, Preston, who had received an answer from whomever
he was calling, edged his way toward one of the deserted little
reception rooms near a side carriage entrance. Carefully, I trailed him.

It was some minutes before I could make up my mind to risk passing the
door of the little parlor and being discovered, but I was growing
impatient. As I glanced in I was astonished to see him talking earnestly
to Cecilie. I did not dare stop, for fear one or the other might look
up, but I could see that Preston was eagerly questioning her. Her face
was averted from me and I could not read even her expression. The
passageway was deserted, and if I paused I would inevitably attract
attention. So I kept on, turning instinctively in the labyrinth and
coming back to the lobby, where I found a position near the telephone
booths which gave me a concealed view at least of the door of the parlor
around an angle. I waited.

Perhaps five minutes passed. Then Cecilie and Dr. Preston suddenly
emerged from the reception room. Evidently the maid was anxious to get
away, perhaps afraid to be seen with him. With a word, she almost ran
down the corridor in the direction of the rear elevators, and Preston,
with a queer look on his face, came slowly toward me.

Instinctively I drew back into a telephone booth; then it occurred to me
that if I emerged just as he passed he would not be likely to suspect
anything, and I might have a chance to study him.

I did so, and was quite amused at the look of surprise on his face as I
greeted him. Still, I do not t