one.
Now, here we are at the door. Are you sure you can walk to the elevator?
Hang on to my arm."

She hung on to it.

They reached the lift, which came to them in a few seconds, unoccupied
save for the youth who ran it. Clodagh kept up bravely until she was
seated in the taxi, and could have kept up until the end without too
great an effort, for her collapse had made her feel rested. It was not,
however, the girl's metier to "keep up." The task was but half
accomplished. The hardest part was to come.

She knew--or thought she knew--that O'Reilly had the papers, that they
were in New York; not only in New York, but in his private sitting room
at the Dietz Hotel. They were in some hiding-place there; and for an
instant he had feared her knowledge of its existence. He had expected
her to try, while his back was turned, to steal its contents. Clo's
nimble brain, deducing all this from what had happened, deduced
something else as well. The man would have had no fear if the secret
were impossible for an outsider to learn. It could not be impossible. It
couldn't even be difficult, if she might have solved the puzzle while
his back was turned. For her, O'Reilly's uneasiness was a hopeful sign.
Somewhere on the window side of his private parlour at the Dietz the
papers which Angel needed were hidden. Each second during the girl's
slow progress to the lift, her descent, and her short walk to the taxi,
was spent in sorting out these deductions.

Those big black eyes of Clodagh Riley's had not been given her in vain.
One swift glance during the cold-water treatment had shown her many
details useful to remember. On one side of the window was a desk. In the
desk was a drawer, and the key thereof was in the keyhole. It seemed
improbable that secret papers should be kept in such a place, but
circumstances might have forced O'Reilly to leave them there.

On the other side of the window was a kind of buffet, with glass doors
and shelves and a closed cupboard, but Clo had less hope of this than of
the desk. There might be a less obvious hiding hole than either, perhaps
a sliding panel in the wall. There must in any case be a key, and that
key must be on the person of O'Reilly.

She would have to use all her wits to get it while they were together in
the taxi! And there was the key of the suite to get also; but that would
be easier. She had seen O'Reilly take the big key from a table, as they
went by, slipping it into the pocket o