Peter examined the signatures carefully. Mary Blake's was, so far as he could judge, precisely like those he had seen at Frederick Jones's office, the writing rather large, and slanting in the ordinary way. Anne's signature was small and cramped and written "backhand," very different from her sister's generous, spirited writing. And yet, in some ways, they were similar, Peter noted; a fact probably due to long association. The e's, for instance, were formed in both cases, not in a loop, but like a written capital e, and they were separate, not joined to the letter k which preceded in the word "Blake." Peter remarked these points in passing, but their full significance did not dawn upon him for many, many anxious days. CHAPTER XIII THE WOMAN AT THE PENNSYLVANIA HOTEL "Here he is," said Captain O'Malley, as Peter, having made a quick trip from the Scoville Bank, entered the door of his partner's private office. "You're just in time, Pete. Fox thinks he's found the lady!" "What, already?" said Peter, glancing sharply at the round, smooth face of the detective who stood beside O'Malley's desk. "And which one?" "I think I've found Miss Mary Blake. But, of course, I can't be perfectly sure yet," answered Fox, thrusting forward his chin, eagerly. "I've been rounding up the hotels to see what ladies, travelling alone, registered on Sunday night. Been doing it ever since we got our orders, and I haven't had any luck till just about an hour ago. I'd gone all through the smaller hotels, thinking she'd sure pick a quiet one, and then it suddenly occurred to me that maybe she'd think she'd attract less attention at one of the big ones, and after running through several, I hit the Pennsylvania. Happens I know the clerk there, so he took some pains to help me. He was off duty Sunday, and there wasn't anybody registered that day that could possibly have been either of the Miss Blakes. But, as you know, Clancy, they're pretty particular about taking any ladies without luggage, and Watson (that's the clerk) thought she might possibly have tried to get in and they wouldn't take her. So he got hold of the man that was on duty Sunday, and I gave him my spiel. This lad (Franklin, his name is) said there was a lady, very beautiful and young, that came into the hotel on Sunday evening, about seven, and wanted a room. She didn't have nothing but a small handbag, and she was so pretty Franklin was leary of her and said they were full up. So then I asked him if he had any idea where she'd gone, and he said that she seemed so kind of timid and upset about not getting a room, and she didn't look exactly like a rounder (though you can't always tell, at that), so he suggested that she might go over to the station and talk to the Travellers' Aid officer that's always in the women's waiting room; that she could find out there some respectable boarding house she could get into."