Standing aside, he opened the door. “And we meet again?”
As she hobbled out, she glanced across her shoulder. In her gesture there was the ghostly grace of the proud coquette who was vanishing and forgotten. “Will you want to,” she whispered, “to-morrow?”
II
Now that she was gone he realized that under the hypnotic influence of her presence he had revealed far more than he had intended. He should never have allowed her to escape him. He should have insisted on accompanying her. She had afforded him his only clue to Santa's whereabouts.
At all costs he must see Santa. His peace of mind depended on it. The thought of her would haunt him. He would never rest until he had arrived at the truth. Probably, until he had seen her, he would never be free from the mischief-making intrusions of anonymous intriguers. He dodged the theory of her guilt, preferring to persuade himself that a conspiracy was afoot, the object of which might be blackmail. More likely it was a clever move on the part of financial rivals to thwart his plans by discrediting him. If he could meet Santa, he would know for certain whether she was a decoy or a fellow-victim. Whatever his intellect might suspect, his heart resolutely acquitted her.
It was too late to overtake the Little Grandmother, but he was determined to do his best to trace her. In the passage he discovered a solitary individual collecting boots and shoes, which had been placed for cleaning outside the neighboring doors.
“An old lady left my room a few moments ago. She had short hair and a white handkerchief tied over her head. No doubt you saw her.”
The man rose from his stooping posture. “An old lady with short hair! You say she had a handkerchief tied over it? It doesn't sound like the Ritz. No, I did not see her.”
Of the man at the elevator he made the same inquiry, only to be informed that several old ladies had been carried up and down.
Descending to the foyer, he presented himself at the desk.