We parted from Dr. Leslie at the door of the apartment, promising to keep in touch with him and let him know the moment anything happened.
At the first telegraph office Kennedy entered and sent off a long message to our friend Burke of the Secret Service in Washington, asking him to locate the Baroness, if possible, in that city, and to give any information he might have about either Haynes or Madame Dupres.
"It's still early in the evening," remarked Kennedy as we left the telegraph office. "Suppose we drop around to the St. Quentin. Perhaps we may run into our friends there."
The St. Quentin was a favorite resort of foreigners in New York, and I, at least, entered prepared to suspect everyone.
"Not all these mysterious-looking men and women," laughed Kennedy, noticing me as we walked through the lobby, "are secret agents of foreign governments."
"Still they look as if they might give you the 'high sign,'" I replied, "particularly if you flashed a bankroll."
"I don't doubt it," he agreed, his eye roving over the throng. "I suspect that Scotland Yard and the Palais de Justice might be quite pleased to see some faces here rather than on the other side of the Atlantic."
He drew me into an angle and for some moments we studied the passing crowd of diplomats and near-diplomats.
A moment later I saw Kennedy bow and, following the direction of his eyes, looked up to a sort of mezzanine gallery. There were Haynes and a most attractive woman, talking earnestly.
"Madame Dupres," Craig whispered to me, aside.