They went to the bedroom of the apartment. Bedroom was like living-room in that it was impersonal, a standard chamber in a large hotel. But this seemed almost incredibly impersonal! There was not one picture, not one feminine touch. In the bath there were scarcely any toilet articles; and in the closet there was only an overnight bag and a suitcase by way of luggage, with neither of them entirely emptied of their contents. "One impression I get is that these rooms have not been lived in even for twenty-four hours!" said Beatrice. Keane nodded. "If Madame Sin retreated here only to fall into that deep trance, and did not wake again till it was time for her to venture out, the rooms would have just this look. And I think that is exactly what she has done!" Beatrice looked deftly through Madame Sin's meager wardrobe. Keane searched dresser and table and bureau drawers. He wasn't looking for anything definite, just something that might prove the final straw to point him definitely toward the incredible goal he was more and more convinced was near. He found it in the top of the woman's suitcase. His fingers were tense as he unfolded a business letterhead. It was a carbon copy, filled with figures. And a glance told him what it was. It was a duplicate of the financial statement of the Blue Bay Development Company--that statement which was held highly confidential, and which no one was supposed to have seen save the three Blue Bay officials, and a bank officer or two. Keane strode to Madame Sin's phone, and got Gest on the wire. "Gest, can you tell me if Kroner and Chichester are still out of the hotel?" Gest's voice came back promptly. "Kroner is here with me now. I guess Chichester is still at his home on Ocean Boulevard; at any rate he isn't in the hotel----" "Ascott!" Beatrice said tensely. Keane hung up and turned to her. "The woman--Madame Sin!" Beatrice said, pointing toward the still, lovely form on the chaise-lounge. "I thought I saw her eyes open a little--thought I saw her look at you!" Keane's own eyes went down a bit to veil the sudden glitter in them from Beatrice. "Probably you were mistaken," he said easily. "Probably you only thought you saw her eyelids move.... I'm going to wind this up now, I think. You go back to your suite, and watch the time. If I'm not back here in two hours, go with the police to the home of Chichester, the treasurer of this unlucky resort development. And go fast," he added, in a tone that slowly drained the blood from Beatrice's anxious face. _5. Death's Lovely Mask_ Chichester's home sat on a square of lawn between the new boulevard and the bay shore like a white jewel in the sun. It looked prosperous, prosaic, serene. But to Keane's eyes, at least, it seemed covered with the psychic pall that had come to be associated in his mind with the dreaded Doctor Satan. He walked toward the blandly peaceful-looking new home with the feeling of one who walks toward a tomb.