Mr. Gryce nodded thoughtfully, but made no immediate effort to rise.

“Is that all you know about her?” he asked.

“Yes; this is the first time she has stopped at this hotel.  She came yesterday.  Took a room indefinitely.  Seems all right; but she did blush, sir.  I ever saw its beat in a young girl.”

“Call the desk.  Say that I’m to be told if Mrs. Watkins of Nashville rings up during the next ten minutes.  We’ll give her that long to take some action.  If she fails to make any move, I’ll make my own approaches.”

Sweetwater did as he was bid, then went back to his place in the lobby.

But he returned almost instantly.

“Mrs. Watkins has just telephoned down that she is going to—­to leave, sir.”

“To leave?”

The old man struggled to his feet.  “No. 712, do you say?  Seven stories,” he sighed.  But as he turned with a hobble, he stopped.  “There are difficulties in the way of this interview,” he remarked.  “A blush is not much to go upon.  I’m afraid we shall have to resort to the shadow business and that is your work, not mine.”

But here the door opened and a boy brought in a line which had been left at the desk.  It related to the very matter then engaging them, and ran thus: 

“I see that information is desired as to whether any person was seen to stoop to the lobby floor last night at or shortly after the critical moment of Miss Challoner’s fall in the half story above.  I can give such information.  I was in the lobby at the time, and in the height of the confusion following this alarming incident, I remember seeing a lady,—­one of the new arrivals (there were several coming in at the time)—­stoop quickly down and pick up something from the floor.  I thought nothing of it at the time, and so paid little attention to her appearance.  I can only recall the suddenness with which she stooped and the colour of the cloak she wore.  It was red, and the whole garment was voluminous.  If you wish further particulars, though in truth, I have no more to give, you can find me in 356.

“HenryA. MCELROY.”

“Humph!  This should simplify our task,” was Mr. Gryce’s comment, as he handed the note over to Sweetwater.  “You can easily find out if the lady, now on the point of departure, can be identified with the one described by Mr. McElroy.  If she can, I am ready to meet her anywhere.”

“Here goes then!” cried Sweetwater, and quickly left the room.

When he returned, it was not with his most hopeful air.

“The cloak doesn’t help,” he declared.  “No one remembers the cloak.  But the time of Mrs. Watkins’ arrival was all right.  She came in directly on the heels of this catastrophe.”

“She did!  Sweetwater, I will see her.  Manage it for me at once.”

“The clerk says that it had better be upstairs.  She is a very sensitive woman.  There might be a scene, if she were intercepted on her way out.”