In the lower hall the elevator man handed Bobby the mail that had come since the night of his grandfather's murder. In the car again he glanced over the envelopes. He tore one open with a surprised haste. "This is Maria's handwriting," he told Graham. He read the hastily scrawled note aloud with a tone that failed toward the end. "DEAR BOBBY; "You must not, as you say, think me a bad sport. You were very wicked last night. Maybe you were so because of too many of those naughty little cocktails. Why should you threaten poor Maria? And you boasted you were going out to the Cedars to kill your grandfather because you didn't like him any more. So I told Carlos to take you home. I was afraid of a scene in public. Come around. Have tea with me. Tell me you forgive me. Tell me what was the matter with you." "She must have written that yesterday morning," Bobby muttered. "Good Lord, Hartley! Then it was in my mind!" "Unless that letter's a plant, too," Graham said. "Yet how could she know there'd be a search? Why shouldn't she have addressed it to the Cedars where there was a fair chance of its being opened and read by the police? Why hasn't my man made any report on her? We've a number of questions to ask Maria." But word came down from the dancer's apartment that Maria wasn't at home. "When did she go out?" Graham asked the hall man. "Not since I came on duty at six o'clock." Graham slipped a bill in the man's hand. "We've an important message for her. We'd better leave it with the maid." When they were alone in the upper hall he explained his purpose to Bobby. "We must know whether she's actually here. If she isn't, if she hasn't been back for the last twenty-four hours--don't you see? It was yesterday afternoon you thought you saw a woman at the lake, and last night a woman cried about the Cedars--" "That's going pretty far, Hartley." "It's a chance. A physical one." A pretty maid opened the door. Her face was troubled. She studied them with frank disappointment. "I thought--" she began. "That your mistress was coming back?" Graham flashed. There was no concealment in the girl's manner. It was certain that Maria was not in the apartment. "You remember me?" Bobby asked. "Yes. You have been here. You are a friend of mademoiselle's. You can, perhaps, tell me where she is." Bobby shook his head. The girl spread her hands. She burst out excitedly: "What is one to do? I have telephoned the theatre. There was no one there who knew anything at all, except that mademoiselle had not appeared at the performance last night." Graham glanced at Bobby. "When," he asked, "did you see her last?" "It was before luncheon yesterday." "Did she leave no instructions? Didn't she say when she would be back?" The girl nodded. "That's what worries me, for she said she would be back after the performance last night." "She left no instructions?" Graham repeated.