Mrs. Ferguson by this time had slipped into her bedroom, and one by one the girls were following her. Detective Gay, suddenly aware of the fact that the criminals meant to escape by another door, dashed out into the hall just in time to stop them.
“Must we use handcuffs?” he demanded, pushing Mrs. Ferguson back into her room and locking the door.
The woman did not reply, but she looked at him with an expression of hatred in her eyes.
Mr. Gay called into the next room to the hotel detective, who was still making a systematic search. “Can you get me a photographer?” he asked.
“O.K.,” was the reply, and the detective put the message through, using the room telephone.
“Now, what do you want a photographer for?” demanded Pauline impudently. “Because we’re such pretty girls?”
“I want to send your picture to my daughter,” replied Mr. Gay. “I understand that you and she used to be friends.”
“Who is your daughter?”
“Mary Louise Gay.”
“The little rat! If I’d ever realized——”