arrived at the Waldorf."

"Sounds dead easy," Mr. Skinner remarked reassuringly. "Got the
picture?"

Mr. Sabin touched the spring of a small gold locket which he drew
from an inside waistcoat pocket, and disclosed a beautifully painted
miniature. Mr. Skinner's thick lips were pursed into a whistle.
He was on the point of making a remark when he chanced to glance
into Mr. Sabin's face. The remark remained unspoken.

He drew a sheet of note-paper towards him and made a few notes upon
it.

"The Duchess many friends in New York?"

"At present none. The few people whom she knows here are at Newport
or in Europe just now."

"Any idea whom she went to the Waldorf to see? More we know the
better."

Mr. Sabin handed him the letter which had been picked up in the cab.
Mr. Skinner read it through, and spat once more upon the floor.

"What the h---'s this funny coloured pencil mean?"

"I do not know," Mr. Sabin answered. "You will see that the two
anonymous communications which I have received since arriving in
New York yesterday are written in the same manner."