After a drive of some fifteen minutes, she saw the cab ahead of them begin to slow up, and observed that her chauffeur did likewise. Presently the first cab stopped before the doors of a big, imposing looking hotel, and Richard and Miss Morton hurriedly entered. Grace did not at once get out. She knew that her husband might resent her having followed him, and did not care to put him to any disadvantage by appearing so unexpectedly upon the scene. She waited, therefore, for several minutes, until he would have had time to go to his room, and then, paying off her cabman, she strolled quietly into the hotel lobby. There were a few persons sitting about, but Richard was not amongst them. Going to the clerk at the desk, she asked to see Mr. Richard Duvall. The clerk regarded her with a supercilious stare, consulted his records in a bored way, then informed her that no such person was registered there. Grace was completely taken aback. "But I saw him come in, only a few moments ago," she protested. "No such person here, Miss." With a frigid smile the clerk turned away, watching her, however, out of the corner of his eye, as though he considered her a suspicious character. Grace leaned over and examined the register. There were three entries upon it, in a handwriting clearly that of her husband. "Mrs. Bradley and maid," the first entry said. "Miss Bradley," the second. They had been assigned a suite of rooms. The third and last entry was "John Bradley." His room adjoined the suite. All three were set down as hailing from Boston. Grace puzzled for a long time over this mysterious series of entries without arriving at any definite conclusion regarding them. Where was the so-called Mrs. Bradley? And why had her husband assumed the same name? Was he posing as Ruth Morton's brother, and if so, for what reason? She could not make head or tail of the matter, and wondered whether she had better send up her card, or write Richard a note and leave it for him, telling of the warning. While she was debating the matter in her mind, she suddenly saw him emerge from one of the elevators at the opposite side of the lobby, and come toward the desk. Grace approached him at once, glad that the matter had been so simply arranged. "Richard," she said, in a low voice. "I want to speak to you." The gentleman she had addressed regarded her with a frown. "My name is not Richard, madam," he said, pointedly. "I am John Bradley. You must have made a mistake." With a polite bow he passed on. Grace was completely taken aback. She knew that between them there existed a tacit understanding never to address each other, in public, during the progress of a case, unless requested to do so by some sign. But she felt that she had important information to give her husband, and then, she _had_ been a trifle jealous and annoyed. The thought that she had committed an error filled her with chagrin. Without a word, she left the hotel.