He drew the article forth curiously, and looked at it under the glow of the electric light--it was a small silver handled pen-knife, such as a lady might carry, a rather strange thing to be discovered in a dirt alley back of Wray Street. The incongruity struck him forcibly, and he sat up, wide awake once more, seeking for some mark of identification on the polished handle. There was none, not an inscription of any kind, but he noted that the single slender blade did not fit closely down into its place. He opened it idly to learn the cause--beneath appeared the white gleam of tightly folded paper. CHAPTER XX WHAT THE TELEPHONE TOLD All West's indifference vanished instantly. He had to pry the paper out, so closely had it been wedged in beneath the closed knife blade, and it required a moment in which to straighten it out so that the writing was discernable. Even then the marks were so faint, and minute, he could not really decipher them until he made use of a magnifying glass lying on the desk. A woman's hand, using a pencil, had hastily inscribed the words on a scrap of common paper, apparently torn from some book--the inspiration of an instant, perhaps, a sudden hope born of desperation. He fairly had to dig the words out, letter by letter, copying them on an old envelope until he had the message complete: "_Please notify police to search Seminole quick_." West read this over, word by word, again and again. What did it mean? Did it mean anything? Had it any possible connection with the case in which he was interested? There was no signature, nothing to guide him; yet in some way the plea sounded real, was a cry of distress, an appeal for help. It could be given no other meaning, yet how long had it been lying there in the alley? Not any great length of time surely, for the polished silver was far too conspicuous to escape notice. It must have been dropped during the night, within a very short time of its discovery. But what did the words signify? "_Notify police_" was clear enough, but "_search Seminole_" meant absolutely nothing. What was "Seminole"--an apartment house? A hotel? A saloon? Perhaps the police would know; evidently the writer so believed, or she would never have used the name with such confidence. A familiar name to her, she assumed that the police would have no difficulty in instantly locating the place meant. The haste with which the message had apparently been written, its short, sharp words, bespoke urgent need, the consciousness of imminent peril. Plainly the writer had used the only means at hand in a hurried desperate effort to gain assistance.