“She’s here at this hotel. Has a small suite on the third floor. Came down from her home in central New York to meet my mother, whom she had never seen. Mother’s here, too, on the same floor. Night before last Mrs. Hale thought she heard a noise in her outer room. She made a look-see, but found nothing. In the morning when she got up, about ten (she’s a late riser) the necklace was gone.” “Where had it been left?” “On a stand in her sitting-room.” “Anything else taken?” “That’s the strange part of it. Her purse, with over a hundred dollars in it, which lay under the necklace, wasn’t touched.” “Does she usually leave valuables around in that casual way?” “Well, you see, she’s always stayed at the Denton and she felt perfectly secure here.” “Any other thefts in the hotel?” “Not that I can discover. But one of the guests on the same floor with Mrs. Hale saw a fellow acting queerly that same night. There he sits, yonder, at that table. I’ll ask him to come over.” The guest, an elderly man, already interested in the case, was willing enough to tell all he knew. “I was awakened by some one fumbling at my door and making a clinking noise,” he explained. “I called out. Nobody answered. Almost immediately I heard a noise across the hall. I opened my door. A man was fussing at the keyhole of the room opposite. He was very clumsy. I said, ‘is that your room?’ He didn’t even look at me. In a moment he started down the hallway. He walked very fast, and I could hear him muttering to himself. He seemed to be carrying something in front of him with both hands. It was his keys, I suppose. Anyway I could hear it clink. At the end of the hall he stopped, turned to the door at the left and fumbled at the keyhole for quite a while. I could bear his keys clink again. This time, I suppose, he had the right room, for be unlocked it and went in. I listened for fifteen or twenty minutes. There was nothing further.” Average Jones looked at Kirby with lifted brows of inquiry. Kirby nodded, indicating that the end room was Mrs. Hales’. “How was the man dressed?” asked Average Jones. “Grayish dressing-gown and bed-slippers. He was tall and had gray hair.” “Many thanks. Now, Mr. Kirby, will you take me to see Mrs. Hale?” The young widow received them in her sitting-room. She was of the slender, big-eyed, sensitive type of womanhood; her piquant face marred by the evidences of sleeplessness and tears. To Average Jones she gave her confidence at once. People usually did. “I felt sure the advertisement would bring us help,” she said wistfully. “Now, I feel surer than ever.” “Faith helps the worst case,” said the young man, smiling. “Mr. Kirby tells me that the intruder awakened you.” “Yes; and I’m a very heavy sleeper. Still I can’t say positively that anything definite roused me; it was rather an impression of some one’s being about. I came out of my bedroom and looked around the outer room, but there was nobody there.”