and Jimmie as a sleeping apartment.

Instantly, almost before the sound of the knock died away, Gates
opened the door and stepped forward. The man who stood in the
corridor, facing the doorway, was tall, slender, dark of complexion,
like a Spaniard or a Mexican. His black hair was long, straight,
thin; his black eyes were bright, treacherous, too close together,
with a little vertical wrinkle between the brows. He was dressed in
a neat brown business suit of expensive material.

When the door was opened he stepped forward and glanced into the
interior of the room, apparently with the purpose of entering. But
when Gates moved aside to give him passageway he drew back, the set
smile on his face vanishing as he bowed low and swung his slender
hands out in elaborate gesture.

"Pardon!" he said. "I have made a mistake in the room."

He was about to move away when Gates gritted out a question.

"For whom were you looking?" he asked. "We may be able to direct you
to your friend," he added, more courteously, his alert eyes taking
in every detail of the man's face, figure and dress.

"It is nothing!" was the quick reply. "I will make inquiries at the
office--which, undoubtedly, I should have done before."

In a moment he was gone, moving gracefully toward the elevator.
Gates watched his elegant, well-dressed figure with a smile of quiet
satisfaction. When the visitor gained the elevator, he turned and