"I am Mrs. Duvall," she said.
The boy looked up.
"There's a chauffeur outside wants to see you, ma'am," he said, "Tom Leary."
Grace understood at once, and made her way to the sidewalk. The cab driver of the morning stood near the entrance.
"I beg pardon, ma'am, for calling you out," he said, "but I couldn't come in, and there was something I felt you ought to know."
"What is it?"
"A lady came here to see me a while ago," he said. "A smallish looking woman, not pretty, with light hair. She had on a dark brown suit. Not very good style, ma'am. She asked me if I knew anybody in the hotel named Duvall. I said I did. I find she'd been asking all the other cabmen, and had been to the desk, before that. I guess she must have been inquiring for your husband, ma'am."
"Yes—yes—very likely," Grace hastily replied. "What then?"
"Well, ma'am, she then asked me if I knew Mrs. Duvall. I said I did. Then she wanted to know if I'd driven either you or your husband to any other hotel to-day, and I said I hadn't, but that I usually did drive you, when you went anywhere. I took the liberty of saying that, ma'am."
"Yes. I'm glad you did. Go on."