Duvall told him to proceed with his work, and drawing a newspaper from his pocket, made an effort to interest himself in it. In this, however, he was not very successful. Time after time his mind would wander from the printed sheet before him to the strange events of the night before. The thing that puzzled him most was, how did the persecutors of Miss Morton discover her new address so soon? Was the woman who had handed the package to Nora, the maid, the same one that had vanished from the cab? He remembered that it had been about nine o'clock when they left the Grand Theater, and perhaps half-past when he had gone into the drug store in Sixth Avenue to get the aromatic spirits of ammonia. Had the woman gone directly from the cab to the hotel? She must have done so, without much loss of time, in order to reach there by ten o'clock. How had she known the address? He knew very well that he had given it to the cabman, when they started away from the theater. Had the supposedly fainting woman overheard his words? If she had, and had so promptly acted upon them, she was far more clever and determined than her appearance would seem to warrant. He revolved the matter endlessly in his mind, waiting for Mr. Baker to announce that the time had come, when Miss Ford's or Miss Green's arrival or non-arrival would indicate which of the two, if either, was the woman they sought. Suddenly the bell of the telephone on Mr. Baker's desk ran sharply. He answered it, then turned to Duvall. "Miss Green, the telephone operator, is at her desk," he said. "Would you like to take a look at her?" "Yes." The detective arose, and followed Mr. Baker into the corridor. The switchboard of the building was located at the end of the hall, in a small bare room. When they reached it, Mr. Baker spoke to a dark-haired, rather stout, woman who sat at the desk. "Miss Green," he said, "if any calls come in for Mr. Duvall, he will be in my office." Then he went back along the corridor. "She certainly isn't the woman we are after," he remarked to Duvall, as soon as they were out of earshot. "No. It must be Miss Ford," the detective replied. "Suppose we go to the developing and finishing department," Baker suggested. "It is time all our people were on hand. Mr. Emmett, who is in charge there, can tell us about Miss Ford." They crossed to the other side of the building, and entered a small office. A bald-headed man sat at a littered desk. "Mr. Emmett," Baker said, "shake hands with Mr. Duvall. He is looking for a young woman in the finishing department. Miss Marcia Ford. Has she come in yet?" "No," replied the bald-headed man, gravely shaking hands. "She is not here this morning. It is rather surprising, too, for she usually is on time." "What sort of a looking woman is she?" Duvall inquired.