Ruth thrust the unstoppered bottle under Mrs. Judson's nose. The ammonia almost choked Ryder when he got a whiff of it; and it brought the widow up standing and trying to catch her breath. She had been by no means unconscious, and it flashed through John Ryder's brain that she might have heard what he said about her. Mrs. Judson choked for a moment, sputtered, uttered a stifled shriek or two, and then fell to crying more quietly, but rocking herself to and fro on the couch and wringing her bejeweled hands. "Well, I'm hanged!" muttered Ryder. "This is pretty near the limit!" Ruth turned to look at him for a moment. Her eyes suddenly sparkled with merriment and she shook a playful finger at him. "You're like other men, I see," she whispered. "I guess I'm glad. I began to think you were almost an angel, hubby." Mrs. Judson monopolized her attention then. She began to pour out a tale of woe that Ryder could scarcely understand; but it seemed Marie had left her--had run away while she was at supper--and had gone with some of the hotel help in a wagon back into the country where there was a station on another railroad--a long and toilsome journey, but anything to get away from a hotel that had no heat or electric lights! "And she's robbed me--I know she has! Of course she has! Don't you say she hasn't!" chattered the large lady, her bosom heaving, threatening to go into another convulsion. "Send for Miss Solomons. She must find my brooches--my rings--my necklace----" "Who is Miss Solomons?" asked Ruth wonderingly. "The house detective," said Ryder, and was very glad thereafter that he said no more, for a cold voice at the open door of the suite said clearly: "What's going on here? Who wants Miss Solomons?" Mrs. Judson had gone waveringly on to another phase of her trouble. "And I tried to undress myself; but I didn't dare go to bed. And then the lights went out and--and----" She trailed off again into spasmodic cries. Miss Solomons marched down the room to where the bridegroom and his bride were endeavoring to pacify the large lady. "Huh!" sniffed the house detective, high disgust expressed upon her keen face. "It's that Judson woman. What's the matter with her now?" The question, Ryder thought, was to the point. At that moment Mrs. Judson's gyrations reminded him of those of an eel upon a hot frying pan. Personally he was becoming frightened. "Shouldn't she have a doctor?" he demanded. "A barrel stave would do her more good," declared Miss Solomons harshly. "If I had a little aromatic spirits I'd fix her!" exclaimed Ruth, biting her lower lip either to stifle a desire to laugh or to cry, Ryder could not tell which. "Doctor!" sniffed the house detective, glaring at the hysterical woman. But Ryder rushed to the telephone and called the office. George answered at once. "Mrs. Judson is ill--here in our rooms," Ryder said. "Isn't there a doctor in the neighborhood?"