"I don't think so. I had noticed her when she first came into the
lobby. She was talking to her daughter who was with her, and looked
natural and happy. But no sooner had she seen and read that
bulletin, than the blood shot up into her face and her manner became
furtive and hasty. There was no mistaking the difference, sir.
Almost before I could point her out, she had seized her daughter by
the arm and hurried her towards the elevator. I wanted to follow
her, but you may prefer to make your own inquiries. Her room is on
the seventh floor, number 712, and her name is Watkins. Mrs. Horace
Watkins of Nashville."

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