made her the very opposite of the radiant creature that had created such a furore in motion picture circles. The methods of her persecutors, if unchecked, would beyond doubt wreck her strength and health in a short time, and in addition, there was the danger that at any moment a physical attack, a swiftly thrown acid bomb, an explosive mixture concealed in an innocent-looking package, might destroy both her beauty and her reason in one blinding flash. With the fear in her great brown eyes constantly before him, Duvall determined more than ever to free her from this terrible persecution.
They separated in the neighborhood of 30th Street, Duvall and Miss Morton taking a taxicab that stood before one of the smaller Fifth Avenue hotels. He made a pretense of entering the hotel, and did not summon the taxi until Mrs. Morton's car was well out of sight up the Avenue. Then he instructed the driver to proceed first to his hotel.
Their stop here was but momentary. Duvall went to his room, threw a few articles of clothing into his grip, left a note for Grace, telling her that he would be absent for several days, then rejoined his companion and drove uptown to the hotel opposite the park, the name of which he had mentioned to Mrs. Morton. He felt perfectly certain that they had not been followed.
Upon arriving at the hotel, he entered their names, including that of Mrs. Morton, upon the register, using the pseudonym which that latter had suggested. Then, sending Ruth to her room, he asked to see the manager, and had a brief conference with him in private. Immediately thereafter, he went up to his own apartment.
As he had arranged, it adjoined the suite selected for the Mortons. He tapped lightly on the communicating door.
"Are you all right, Miss Morton?" he called.
"Yes," came the girl's voice from the opposite side. "All right, thank you."
Chapter 3
Grace Duvall said good-by to her husband that morning with very little enthusiasm. She was not jealous of him, she was too sensible a woman, and trusted him too fully for that. But his sudden interest in Ruth Morton, the charming motion picture star, seemed rather incomprehensible to her. Of course she suspected he was working on a case which concerned the girl although Duvall had neither affirmed nor denied it. But she felt lonely, and perhaps a trifle out of sorts, and found her solitary breakfasts, luncheons, dinners, a little trying. So often before, she and Richard had worked together. Why, she wondered, did he so pointedly exclude her from this case? She would have liked to talk it over with him.
She sat rather disconsolately in her room most of the forenoon, and about one o'clock made ready for a lonely luncheon. She was just about to leave the apartment when the telephone bell rang. Grace hastened to it at once, hoping that the call might be from her husband. A woman's voice, low, firm, determined sounded in her ears.
"I want to speak with Mr. Duvall," the voice said.
"Mr. Duvall is out. This is Mrs. Duvall."
"Very well, Mrs. Duvall. If you want to keep your husband from very serious harm, you had better tell him to steer clear of Ruth Morton's affairs in future. A word to the wise, you know. Good day." The speaker suddenly rang off.
Grace turned from the telephone, her brain in a whirl. What danger threatened her husband? Ought she not to tell him of the message as soon as possible, so that he might be on his guard? And what did this mysterious reference to "Ruth Morton's affairs" mean? Did it imply that Richard was in any way involved—but that was preposterous. She put the thought from her mind, and went down in the elevator to a lonely and not very enjoyable meal.
As she left the dining-room, and passed through the lobby, she thought she saw ahead of her a familiar figure. A moment later she realized that it was Richard himself, walking very rapidly toward the main entrance, his satchel in his hand. Was he leaving the hotel? And if so, ought she not to make an attempt to give him the message she had just received, before he did so? She walked quickly after him, but his pace was so rapid that she reached the sidewalk only in time to see him swing himself into a waiting taxi, baggage in hand, and drive quickly off. But what Grace saw, in addition to this, filled her with queer misgivings. Beside her husband in the cab was a woman—very beautiful woman, whom Grace had no difficulty whatever in identifying as Ruth Morton. And she also noticed, in the brief moment that elapsed before the taxi shot toward the Avenue, that the woman seemed to be in tears, and that Richard leaned over with the utmost solicitude and affection and clasped her hand in his. For the first time in her life, Grace Duvall was actually jealous.
Thoughts of possible danger to her husband, however, were paramount in her mind. Without an instant's hesitation she stepped into a second taxi, whose driver was trying to attract her attention, and told him to follow the car containing the man and woman which had just driven off.
The chauffeur grinned knowingly, nodded, and started his car. His grin drove from Grace's mind her sudden and unaccustomed jealousy. She knew that Richard must be going away with this girl for some reason connected with his professional work. Of course that work did not usually include consoling beautiful damsels in distress, but there must be extenuating circumstances. She put her unpleasant thoughts from her mind, and proceeded on her mission, to give her husband the warning message she had just received, with a reasonably calm mind.
After a drive of some fifteen minutes, she saw the cab ahead of them begin to slow up, and observed that her chauffeur did likewise. Presently the first cab stopped before the doors of a big, imposing looking hotel, and Richard and Miss Morton hurriedly entered.
Grace did not at once get out. She knew that her husband might resent her having followed him, and did not care to put him to any disadvantage by appearing so unexpectedly upon the scene. She waited, therefore, for several minutes, until he would have had time to go to his room, and then, paying off her cabman, she strolled quietly into the hotel lobby.
There were a few persons sitting about, but Richard was not amongst them. Going to the clerk at the desk, she asked to see Mr. Richard Duvall.
The clerk regarded her with a supercilious stare, consulted his records in a bored way, then informed her that no such person was registered there.
Grace was completely taken aback.
"But I saw him come in, only a few moments ago," she protested.
"No such person here, Miss." With a frigid smile the clerk turned away, watching her, however, out of the corner of his eye, as though he considered her a suspicious character.
Grace leaned over and examined the register. There were three entries upon it, in a handwriting clearly that of her husband. "Mrs. Bradley and maid," the first entry said. "Miss Bradley," the second. They had been assigned a suite of rooms. The third and last entry was "John Bradley." His room adjoined the suite. All three were set down as hailing from Boston.
Grace puzzled for a long time over this mysterious series of entries without arriving at any definite conclusion regarding them. Where was the so-called Mrs. Bradley? And why had her husband assumed the same name? Was he posing as Ruth Morton's brother, and if so, for what reason? She could not make head or tail of the matter, and wondered whether she had better send up her card, or write Richard a note and leave it for him, telling of the warning. While she was debating the matter in her mind, she suddenly saw him emerge from one of the elevators at the opposite side of the lobby, and come toward the desk.
Grace approached him at once, glad that the matter had been so simply arranged.
"Richard,"
