Grace gave a groan of despair.
"The daughter of the elderly lady, about whom I asked you before. Her name is Morton. Her daughter Ruth is staying here under an assumed name—Bradley, you say it is. Oh—please be quick. I know what I am talking about. That woman who came here a while ago is a dangerous character. She gave Mrs. Morton some message or other to get her out of the way, and as soon as she had gone came back into the hotel and went upstairs in the elevator. Didn't you see her?"
"Yes, Miss, I saw her. She was a friend of Mrs. Bradley's, she said, and I supposed Mrs. Bradley had told her to go upstairs."
"I tell you, that woman who just went upstairs means harm—terrible harm, to Miss Bradley—Miss Morton. Oh—don't stand there wasting time. Come up with me at once, and you will see that I am right——"
"But—who are you, Miss? What have you to do with the matter?"
"What difference does that make, if what I say is true? If you must know, I am a detective employed by Mrs. Morton——"
"Employed by Mrs. Morton! And yet you didn't know her when you saw her! My dear woman, your story does not hang together——"
"It is my husband, Mr. Duvall, who is employed by her. He was registered here under the name of Bradley, too. I am trying to help him."
"Oh!" The clerk seemed somewhat more inclined to accord her serious attention. "Very well. I will go to the room with you, and see if everything is all right."
"And hurry, please—hurry." Grace started toward the elevators.