Two of the more enterprising of the journalists caught them up
upon the pavement. Miss Penelope Morse, however, had little to
say to them.

"You must not ask me any more questions about Mr. Hamilton
Fynes," she declared. "My acquaintance with him was of the
slightest. It is true that I came here to lunch today without
knowing what had happened. It has been a shock to me, and I do
not wish to talk about it, and I will not talk about it, for the
present."

She was deaf to their further questions. The hotel clerk handed
her into a taximeter cab, and gave the address to the driver.
Then he went back to his office, where Inspector Jacks was still
sitting.

"This Mr. Hamilton Fynes," he remarked, "seems to have been what
you might call a secretive sort of person. Nobody appears to know
anything about him. I remember when he was staying here before
that he had no callers, and seemed to spend most of his time
sitting in the palm court."

The inspector nodded.

"He was certainly a man who knew how to keep his own counsel," he
admitted. "Most Americans are ready enough to talk about
themselves and their affairs, even to comparative strangers."

The hotel clerk nodded.