e dared, Clo retraced her steps to the hotel. She hated to
leave Beverley alone, but between two evils it seemed that she had
chosen the less. When the taxi stopped Beverley would get out; and then
she would have a few blocks to walk before reaching home. As for the
bag, she could hardly forget it in the cab. The thing was too heavy to
fall from her lap without being noticed. She would have the jewels safe,
while Clo tried to bargain with ferret-face on promises of reward.

By the time she had argued away her worst tremors, Clo had again entered
the Hotel Westmorland. She had decided to say that her friend had
forgotten something if a question were asked; but the desk was still
surrounded with its group of talkative men, and she walked to the stairs
at the back of the hall as if she were a guest of the hotel. Thence she
toiled to the top.

It was only when she approached the door of Number 658, and saw once
more the brown trunk at the end of the hall, that Clo remembered the odd
side-issue of her adventure. She hesitated between the need for haste
and the wish to solve the mystery that troubled her. But it would take
only a minute to run to the trunk, to sit on it again, and see what
happened! Meanwhile, any one who went in, or came out from, Number 658,
must do so under her eyes.

Curiosity conquered. Clo tip-toed to the trunk, sat heavily down on the
rounded top, as she had done before, and nothing happened. There was no
sign of movement within; and Clo wondered if, after all, the thing that
had jumped under the lid had been created by her own jumping nerves.
Suddenly the impulse came upon her to try and open it. She seized the
corner of the rounded lid, but it remained immovable. She picked at the
metal hasp which covered the cheap lock. It did not yield, but her
fingers--or she fancied it--touched moisture. The girl shrank back and
looked at her hand. Thumb and forefinger were smeared with blood.

The girl felt sick, and might have fainted comfortably. "Pooh!" she
scolded herself. "You've cut your finger. Serve you right for not
minding your own business. Go to it now, and no nonsense, if you
please!"

Goading herself to courage she marched to the door of 658 and knocked.
No answer came, and the girl's heart sank. It seemed too bad to be true
that Peterson should have escaped during the few minutes spent in
putting Angel into a taxi. Besides, she had scarcely gone beyond
eye-shot of the hotel entrance.

"Perh