He stood an instant after her car had shot upward. She had chosen her own course. And this was only the beginning of the consequences. What might the ending be? CHAPTER XI MARY PLANS ANEW The following morning Clifford called at the Grantham and asked if Mrs. Morton was in. The clerk examined the hotel’s file of guests. “There is no Mrs. Morton staying here.” So, after all, they had not registered. He recalled that Mary had formerly been known here as Mrs. Gardner. “May I see Mrs. Gardner, then?” he asked. “Mrs. Gardner moved from the Grantham early this morning,” replied the clerk. “I’d just come on duty when she left.” “Was there a--was her brother with her?” “She was alone.” “If you will kindly give me her new address--” “She left no address.” Clifford walked out of the Grantham in deep thought. Mary had realized her situation, she had acted promptly. But what was her plan?--for undoubtedly she had evolved a plan during the night. And where had she gone? And how was it all going to work out? To be sure, the penetration of the designs of Loveman and Bradley was his real business; but he could not help himself, he was vastly more interested in what Mary might be doing, and in what was to be the end of it all for her. He called on Slant-Face; but her brother still had not seen or heard from her directly since her return to New York. He kept Loveman under surveillance, and also Bradley; the maneuvers of either might lead him to her. And also he kept watch upon Hilton, whose eyes had suddenly lighted when he had seen Mary quickly thrust her rings into her gloves. But he picked up nothing. Clifford might have been greatly helped in his search for Mary by Commissioner Thorne: a general alarm might quickly have located her. But he did not want Mary brought before the general attention of the police. However questionable the ethics of the course her ambition had planned, there was in it nothing that was legally criminal. For a week he kept close surveillance upon Loveman, Bradley, and the dark young man; and learned not a thing about Mary and not a thing about the plans of the others. Then one day he ran across the elder Morton, who had just returned to the city after a trip to Chicago. “You won’t believe it when I tell you,” said the older man, “but Jack’s gone to work.” “Where?” “In my New York offices. Been working there a week--and they tell me he’s been as regular as a clock. Remarkable change!” His voice lowered. “But here’s a point that seems odd: though he’s kept his rooms at the Biltmore, the people there have hardly seen him.” The finding of Mary now seemed simple enough. But Clifford realized that mere knowledge of her whereabouts would not satisfy him. Clifford considered rapidly how he might achieve a private meeting with her. Half an hour later he was sitting with Uncle George in Monsieur Le Bain’s Grand Alcazar, and was telling this wise old man of Broadway all that had happened.