"You are not sure of this?"
"No."
"Then we have no time to lose. Come." He escorted Mrs. Morton to a taxicab, and instructed the chauffeur to drive to her hotel at top speed.
Mrs. Morton had very little to say on the way uptown. She was naturally in a state of greatest excitement. Duvall, too, was greatly concerned. He knew that the false message had not been given by Grace. What purpose had the woman in mind, in getting rid of Mrs. Morton? The realization of what might have happened to Ruth alarmed him beyond measure.
The drive to the hotel occupied but a few moments, but to Duvall it seemed hours. When they at last drew up before the hotel door, he sprang to the sidewalk, ordered the chauffeur to wait, and with Mrs. Morton at his side, hurried into the lobby.
"Give me my key," Mrs. Morton cried, pausing for a moment at the desk. Then, with Duvall at her heels, she rushed to the elevator.
As soon as they arrived at the door of the suite, it was apparent that something was wrong. The door stood open. The clerk, with one of the maids, occupied the little parlor. Through the open door of the bedroom Duvall caught a glimpse of Ruth, lying in bed, the figure of a heavily-set, bearded man bending over her.
"Mrs. Bradley!" the clerk exclaimed, as soon as he caught sight of Mrs. Morton. "I'm so glad you have come. Your daughter has had an—an accident!"
Mrs. Morton paid scant attention to his words. She, too, had seen through the doorway the figure of her daughter lying in the bed. With a cry, she passed the clerk unnoticing, and went toward the bedroom door.
"Ruth!" she exclaimed, in an agonized voice, then rushed into the room beyond.