“I thought there were maids or guards on every floor.” “Quite so,” said Tony; “you remind me. There is a maid stationed on every floor of all decent hotels. There was one on every floor of this. But she is human, and therefore she is movable. This one, on Miss Legaye’s floor, was on duty up to twenty minutes to eleven, and she was on duty after eleven had struck. In between she had been called in to settle some newcomer, an old lady who wanted eight hundred and seventy things to which she was not entitled. She was away less than half an hour, but it was during that time that Miss Legaye must have gone to her room.” Barrison still sat looking at his coffee cup in a troubled way, and Tony suddenly spoke: “Jim, that’s a cold trail, a dead one. See? Why do you keep tracking back to it? You know, and I know, that there’s nothing doing at that end of the story. What keeps you nosing around it?” “I can’t tell you, Tony,” said Barrison, low and not too certainly. “It isn’t exactly evidence that keeps me following that trail. It’s——” “Say!” broke in his subordinate sharply. “Shall I tell you what it is? It’s that woman—it’s Miss Grace Templeton; that’s what it is. You’re dippy about her! And because she’s tipped you that there’s something queer about Miss Legaye, you believe it!” “I thought you admired Miss Templeton yourself!” said Jim Barrison, rallying his forces. Tony Clay surveyed him in surprise. “Admired her?” he exclaimed. “Of course I admire her! But that wouldn’t prevent me from doing my bit on a case! I wouldn’t let a thing like that interfere with me professionally!” He spoke most grandiloquently, with a swelling chest. Jim Barrison looked at him a moment seriously; then his face broke into irrepressible smiles. “Wouldn’t you?” he queried. “Tony, you’ll be a great man one of these days!” CHAPTER XXII “RITA THE DAREDEVIL” Promptly at eight o’clock, Barrison presented himself at the entrance to Coyne’s Theater, where he had agreed to meet Teddy Lucas, of the _Blaze_. The house was of the flagrantly cheap variety, to judge by the people then going in. On either side of the glaringly illuminated doorway were vivid lithographs of ladies with extremely pink cheeks and tights, and gorgeously yellow hair and jewelry; also, of prodigiously muscled acrobats, performing miraculous feats in impossible positions. Barrison found his own eyes attracted, almost at once, by something which stood out, oasislike, among the more lurid and obvious sheets; a large frame containing three photographs, under the plainly printed title: “Rita the Daredevil! Late of the World-famous Blankley Daredevils!”