“Oh no.”
“Then we’ll make a visit to the Ritz after lunch. And I think I will take the two o’clock train to Baltimore to see what I can find out about the woman. What does she call herself?”
“Mrs. Ferguson—and sometimes Mrs. Brooks. Possibly there are two different women, but I don’t believe so.... But what will you do at the Ritz, Daddy?”
“Just make inquiries as to whether anything was stolen while the woman stayed there, and if so, what. That would give me a reason for going after her in Baltimore.”
“That’s a great idea, Dad!” exclaimed Mary Louise joyfully. “May I go to the hotel with you?”
“Of course. Now, you run along and get your hat and coat and tell Mrs. Hilliard where you are going, while I order a taxi.”
It was not until they were in the cab that Mr. Gay remembered to ask how Mary Louise had received the cut on her head. Max had not told him much, he explained, because he wanted to keep it secret from Mary Louise’s mother, to save her unnecessary worry.
“It was part of my investigation about Margaret Detweiler,” replied the girl, and she hurriedly told her father the reason for her visit to Center Square and its consequences. “But I feel that in some way the two cases are tied up together,” she added, “for the woman who owns the place is named Mrs. Ferguson, and a face which I saw at the window reminded me of the woman Pauline called her aunt. But it’s all very confusing.”
The taxi pulled up at the Ritz, and Mr. Gay and his daughter got out. With his badge, the former had no difficulty in interviewing the hotel detective immediately. He asked whether any money or valuables had been lost at the Ritz during the past week.
“Yes,” replied the other, “some money and a valuable bag containing two pearl rings were stolen last Friday. But we suspected a chap who called himself a traveling salesman, and we’re on his track.”