It was eight-forty when I strode into the hotel where I’d left Esther Clarde. A young woman telephone operator was on duty at the switchboard. I told her to ring Miss Claxon’s room, and tell her that Mr. Lam was waiting in the lobby.
She said, “Miss Claxon has checked out.”
“How long ago?” I asked.
“Sometime last night.”
“Can you find out exactly when?”
She said, “You’d better ask the room clerk.”
I walked over to the registration desk and asked the room clerk. He moved down to the window marked Cashier and said, “She paid in advance.”
“I know she paid in advance. What I want to know is when she left.”
He shook his head, started to push back the drawer of cards, then some notation caught his eye. He turned it over to the corner and looked at the pencil note. “She went out about two o’clock this morning,” he said.
I thanked him and asked if there were any messages for me. He looked through a stack of envelopes and said there were none.