"I fixed it with Chambers, the manager of the Fairmount, to get Josette
La Baum--she's Valois's _fiancée_, you remember--into the hotel as a
maid. Josette 'soaped the keyhole' of the drawers in John Cavendish's
rooms there. I had a key made from the soap impression, and from the
contents of the correspondence we found I learned that Celeste La Rue,
the blonde of the Revue, had got some kind of hold on him. It isn't
love, either; it's something stronger. He jumps when she holds the
hoop."

"La Rue's mixed up in this deeply, too," Willis cut in. "Neither one
of us could shadow her without uncovering ourselves, so we hired an
International operative. They cost ten dollars a day--and expenses.
What he learned was this--that while she was playing with young
Cavendish and seeing him almost daily, the lovely Celeste was also in
communication with--guess who!"

"Enright?" Farriss ventured.

"Exactly--Enright," he concluded, lighting his half-smoked cigarette.

"Well," the city editor tapped his desk; "you two have done pretty
well, so far. You've got considerable dope. Now, what do you make of
it?"

He bent an inquiring gaze on both the girl and the youth.

"You do the talking, Jerry," Miss Donovan begged Willis; "I'm very
tired."