"Yes?" said Peter, eagerly, as Fox paused for breath. "Well, that sounded good to me, so I beat it over to the station, and sure enough, the Travellers' Aid woman there did remember that a pretty young woman come in Sunday evening and that she'd recommended a boarding house on Twenty-sixth Street, where they take nothing but women. Then I chased over to the boarding house, and sure enough, she was there, all right. I saw the landlady. She's a respectable woman, enough, but it's a big house that caters to a transient trade and I guess they can't be too particular. Anyhow, she said the girl looked all right and paid for a week in advance, so she should worry. I described Miss Blake to her, and she thinks it's her, all right. I couldn't do nothing more without a photo, so I beat it over to see if we'd got one yet; and that's as far as I've gone." "Sounds good so far," remarked O'Malley. "What do you think, Pete?" "Well, it fits what we know, as far as it goes," said Clancy. "But the acid test'll be matching this girl up to the photograph. Have you got the duplicates yet, O'Malley?" "Just come in, not five minutes ago," answered the old man, reaching for a large envelope which lay upon his desk. "Pretty good service we're getting from the Swift Camera Company. They're swift in something more than the name. Here, Fox, here you are." He held out four unmounted photographs. "You can't make a mistake with all those for comparison, but see her yourself, and make sure." Fox scratched his head. "But how'm I going to get a chance to compare 'em?" he asked, doubtfully. "The landlady says that the young woman, who gave her name as Mrs. Florence Smith, keeps in her room the whole time. She don't go out at all. Has her meals sent up. Says she's nervous about meeting strangers, but it looks to me as if she was hiding." Peter and O'Malley exchanged glances. "Find out anything else?" asked Peter, with increasing interest. "Only that she hasn't had any more luggage sent in. Just had nothing but the handbag she come with. And that she'd written and sent out one letter since she come, and last night, the only time she's been out at all, she asked where was the nearest place she could send a telegram." "Wonder when she sent that letter, and if it was by messenger," said Peter, reflectively. "You didn't happen to ask, did you, Fox?" "No, I didn't, Clancy. Does it matter?" "Well----I don't know----Might----But that'll be easy enough to find out from the landlady, I guess," said Peter. "Anyhow, the whole bag of tricks sounds pretty interesting, Fox. We're bound to follow it up. Somebody's got to get a peek at her by hook or by crook." "But how?" asked Fox, irritably. "How am I going to get at her? I can't go and bust into her room. And if she never leaves it----" "She'll have to leave it sometime, son," said O'Malley, soothingly. "All you'll have to do is to stick around, and sooner or later she's bound to come into the open."