"Well?" he questioned.
"It is not the woman," the detective said. "I did not suppose it would be. There is some slight resemblance, of course. The color of the eyes and hair is the same, and the features are somewhat alike. However, I am very much afraid, Mr. Baker, that I have wasted both your time and mine. And yet, I cannot get over my original impression, that the person responsible for these threats is connected, in some way, with your company."
Baker, puzzled and disappointed as well, led the way back to his office. Duvall, however, when they reached it, did not enter.
"I shall not remain any longer, at present," he said. "I have an idea that I can accomplish more in town. Perhaps I may discover something there—some clue, that will enable us to make progress. I have a plan that may result in something."
"What is it?" Mr. Baker asked.
"I prefer not to say yet. If anything develops, I will let you know. Good day."
The taxicab in which he had made the trip down was still waiting for him. An hour later he had reached his hotel.
The disguise of the night before he had discarded. The woman in the cab had penetrated it. His presence, and that of Mrs. Morton, at the uptown hotel, was known. There seemed to be no further purpose, for the present, in attempting to preserve his incognito. He went to his room at once, and knocked on the door which separated it from the apartment of Mrs. Morton and her daughter. The door was opened by the maid, who ushered him into the little parlor.
"I will tell Mrs. Morton that you are here," the girl said, and went into the next room.
Mrs. Morton came out presently, her face pale and drawn. Duvall knew at once that she had been up all night, watching, no doubt, beside her daughter.