At last he had picked up a warm and very busy trail. Under pretense of an indecision over the flowers he should purchase, he waited for his man to come down, trying to reproduce the scene that was now going on in the “Graysons’” apartment, and the scene prior to it in which Bradley had figured. A quarter of an hour passed, then the debonair Hilton emerged from an elevator and strode out with a jaunty, smiling air. The next moment Clifford was in an elevator, shooting upward, and two minutes later Mary’s maid was bearing his card through a curtained doorway. He caught Mary’s voice sounding as though it were two rooms away, finishing what was obviously a telephone conversation: “You’ll come as soon as you can get here? That’s most kind of you. Good-bye.” There was a delay; he guessed that Mary was surprised at this third successive call; then he was shown through the curtained doorway into the drawing-room. His swift impression of the room was that it was large for a New York apartment, and that its prodigal furnishings bespoke wealth rather than taste on the part of its absent lessee. The next moment Mary came in through a door which he judged led from the library. There was now in her bearing nothing of the cold frankness which she had shown him the day before. She was taut with controlled excitement, which he knew to be the product of the so recent interviews. Her manner was challenging. “What do _you_ want?” He tried to speak in a steady, impersonal tone. “Mr. Bradley was here a few minutes ago. I’d be obliged if you’d tell me what he came for.” “Pardon me for not obliging you--but that is my own affair. Is this all?” “Another gentleman just called on you. Would you tell me what he wanted?” “That also is my own affair.” “It might help me greatly if I knew exactly what he asked for,” Clifford urged. “Perhaps. But that cannot concern me.” “Then you will not tell?” “No.” “Are you aware who this man is?” “He’s a friend of Jack’s.” “Not much of a friend, I hope.” Clifford still spoke in his steady, impersonal tone. “Mr. Hilton is one of several men that I am after--and he’s one of the cleverest and most dangerous of the lot. It is the easiest thing in the world for a crook who is well-dressed, well-mannered, and who can dance, to make acquaintances wherever he likes. The regular game of these crooks is to pick out a woman with money, or who can get money, make her acquaintance, gain her confidence and some of her secrets, and then lead her into a situation where she must pay or be exposed. This is your last visitor’s special line. You might help me a lot if you would tell me what Mr. Hilton wanted from you.” “He came to see me about a personal matter of no importance,” she replied. “Pardon me if I do not believe you,” he said. She made no response. “You will not tell?” he demanded. “I have nothing to tell,” was her steady answer. “I might force you to tell--” he snapped at her, but instantly cut himself off.