"That's just it--_just_ what I want to talk about. You'd never guess what that girl has done--and after all the trouble and thought I've taken in her behalf, too! I'm disgusted, positively and finally disgusted; never again will I interest myself in such people. I--" "But where is Miss Searle?" demanded Alison, with a significant look to Staff. "Gone!" announced Mrs. Ilkington impressively. "Gone?" echoed Staff. Mrs. Ilkington nodded vigorously, compressing her lips to a thin line of disapproval. "I'm positively at my wits' end to account for her." "I fancy there's an explanation, however," Alison put in. "I wish you'd tell me, then.... You see, we dined out, went to the theatre and supper together, last night. The Struyvers asked me, and I made them include her, of course. We got back about one. Of course, my dears, I was fearfully tired and didn't get up till half an hour ago. Imagine my sensation when I enquired for Miss Searle and was informed that she paid her bill and left at five o'clock this _morning_, and with _a strange man!_" "She left you a note, of course?" Staff suggested. "Not a line--nothing! I might be the dirt beneath her feet, the way she's treated me. I'm thoroughly disillusioned--disgusted!" "Pardon me," said Staff; "I'll have a word with the office." He hurried away, leaving Mrs. Ilkington still volubly dilating on that indignity that had been put upon her: Alison listening with an air of infinite detachment. His enquiry was fruitless enough. The day-clerk, he was informed by that personage, had not come on duty until eight o'clock; he knew nothing of the affair beyond what he had been told by the night-clerk--that Miss Searle had called for her bill and paid it at five o'clock; had given instructions to have her luggage removed from her room and delivered on presentation of her written order; and had then left the hotel in company with a gentleman who registered as "I. Arbuthnot" at one o'clock in the morning, paying for his room in advance. Staff, consumed with curiosity about this gentleman, was so persistent in his enquiry that he finally unearthed the bellboy who had shown that guest to his room and who furnished what seemed to be a tolerably accurate sketch of him. The man described was--Iff. Discouraged and apprehensive, Staff returned to the lounge and made his report--one received by Alison with frigid disapproval, by Mrs. Ilkington with every symptom of cordial animation; from which it became immediately apparent that Alison had told the elder woman everything she should not have told her. "'I. Arbuthnot,'" Alison translated: "Arbuthnot Ismay." "Gracious!" Mrs. Ilkington squealed. "Isn't that the real name of that odd creature who called himself Iff and pretended to be a Secret Service man?" Staff nodded a glum assent. "It's plain enough," Alison went on; "this Searle woman was in league with him--" "I disagree with you," said Staff. "On what grounds?" "I don't believe that Miss Searle--"