The Arena hotel, at Thirteenth and Michigan, is the most notorious, the most terrible assignation house in the city of Chicago. When honest men are in bed the red lights of the Arena glare onto the boulevard like the bloodshot eyes of a devouring dragon. The gilded sons of fortune tear up before its yawning doors in their high powered motor cars. The keys to the doors were thrown away long ago. Without it is dismal and somber. Within it is pallid with the erotic gleam of many incandescents. Its music is the popping of champagne corks, the laughter of wine debauched women, the raucous roars of the huntsmen--huntsmen whose sole sport is the slaughter of the innocent, whose only game is the chastity of the maiden. A ten dollar bill is necessary for the purchase of the meanest private dining room in the Arena for a night of revelry. There is not a private dining room in the place without a bedroom in comfortable proximity. The hoi polloi, the common herd, is not admitted at the Arena. To enter there you must be known, and you must be known as a spender. The price of food is treble that of any other place. The cost of liquors is double that of many. The Arena is the sporting ground of the rich. And sport in the Arena comes high. The brother of the young girl in question determined to probe the widow and her mystery to the bottom. He determined, in the first place, to give her the benefit of doubt despite his own convictions. He went to a telephone and called the Arena hotel. He asked for "Mrs. Schwartz." A woman answered the call. "This is Mr. ----," he said. "I believe you called upon my sister today." "What is that?" the woman's voice answered. "Who are you? You must be mistaken. Who do you think you are talking to?" "Mrs. Schwartz, isn't it?" There was a moment of hesitation. The man imagined it a moment of confusion. And then the voice answered: "Oh, no, this is Miss Gartz. You are talking to the wrong person." A mocking laugh and a click of the receiver announced to the man that he had been rung off. He called up the Arena again. He asked for Mrs. Schwartz. He was told that there was no such person there. He asked the clerk for Miss Gartz again. The man was sorry, but Miss Gartz had just left. Repeated telephone calls for both Mrs. Schwartz and Miss Gartz were answered in succeeding days with the information that there were no such persons there. Miss Gartz was not on the hotel register. Neither was Mrs. Schwartz.