Quest had already opened the front door for himself and passed out. He sprang into the taxi which he had kept waiting.
“Clifford’s Hotel in Payne Street,” he told the man sharply.
He lit a cigar and smoked furiously all the way, throwing it on to the pavement as he hurried into the quiet private hotel which a fellow-passenger on the steamer had recommended as being suitable for Lenora’s one night alone in town.
“Can you tell me if Miss Lenora Macdougal is staying here?” he asked at the office.
The woman shook her head.
“Miss Macdougal stayed here the night before last,” she said, “and her luggage is waiting for orders. She left here yesterday afternoon to go to her aunt’s, and promised to send for her things later on during the day. There they stand, all ready for her.”
Quest followed the direction of the woman’s finger. Lenora’s familiar little belongings were there, standing in a corner of the hall.
“You haven’t heard from her, then, since she went out yesterday afternoon?” he asked, with sinking heart.
“No, sir!”
“What time did she go?”