"We don't give private addresses," was the curt reply.
This difficulty Madison had not foreseen, but his quick wit came to his aid, and in his most persuasive tone, he said:
"I'm sure you will, when you know the circumstances. I am a personal friend—I might say, relative, of Miss Murdock. I've just got in from Chicago. She expects me, but I've mislaid her address."
"Oh—that's different," said the voice more civilly. "There's so many Johnnies around that we have to be careful. Miss Murdock is at the Pomona, West —— Street."
Madison did not wait to eat or anything else. Jumping into the first taxicab he saw, he said:
"West —— Street."
A few minutes later the cab drew up before the rather imposing entrance of the Pomona Apartments. Dismissing the taxi, he turned to the uniformed attendant, who stood surveying the weather-tanned six-footer with some respect. Judging by his clothes, the new arrival looked as if he had done some traveling.
"Is Miss Murdock in?"
"I'll see, sir. Who shall I say?"
"Mr. Madison." Airily, he added: "Miss Murdock expects me."