The other detective’s eyes opened wide in surprise.
“Yes. A roll of bills, two hundred dollars, I believe it amounted to, and a valuable stamp collection. Last night. But surely——”
“I have reasons to suspect Mrs. Ferguson and her accomplices,” stated Mr. Gay. “Other hotel robberies lead us to believe she is the leader of a band of hotel thieves.”
“But we are on the track of another suspect. A man we found wandering into the wrong room last night and excusing himself by the old gag of saying he was drunk.”
“Maybe he was drunk!”
“Possibly. We couldn’t get any sense out of him. But I believe that he was just a darned good actor. Another fellow got away—an accomplice, I think, who is known to be a stamp collector. We’re on his trail.”
“I’d like to search the Ferguson woman’s rooms,” announced Mr. Gay. “Can I have your help?”
The man hesitated. He hated to antagonize wealthy guests who were bringing so much money into the hotel; yet when he recalled the expression of Mrs. Ferguson’s eyes he remembered that he had distrusted her. So he reluctantly consented to the other detective’s request.
Taking one of his assistants with him, the hotel detective led Mr. Gay to the ninth floor and knocked at Mrs. Ferguson’s door. From within sounds of laughter and gay music could be heard. As the door opened, the three men saw the girls playing cards in the sitting room of the luxurious suite. A radio was grinding out jazz.
With a shrewd glance at the girls, Mr. Gay realized immediately that they were not the same type as his daughter’s friends at Riverside. They were older, too, although they were painted and lipsticked to appear young.