But, before Joan could make her search she heard steps coming along the corridor. Hastily she unlocked the sitting-room door and hurried into the bedroom. Hardly had she done so when she saw Carter Woodman come into the room. Fortunately, the bedroom communicated directly with the corridor; and Joan, without pausing to make any further examination or to watch Woodman’s movements, let herself out noiselessly into the corridor and sped down the stairs unobserved. A narrow shave, and all, it seemed, for nothing.
Then Woodman’s presence in the hotel gave Joan another idea. If he was there, he was not at his office. Why should she not complete the task she had set herself by having a look round there as well? She took a taxi, and, in less than a quarter of an hour, she was in Woodman’s outer office, and in talk with his confidential clerk. She was told that Woodman was not in, and would not be back until after lunch. She told Moorman that she could not wait, but that she would like to go into the inner office and write a note. Moorman at once showed her in, and withdrew to the outer room.
Joan saw that whatever she did she would have to do quickly. First, she scribbled a hasty note stating that she had come to see Woodman to inquire about her stepfather’s affairs. As he was out, however, her business would keep. Having done this, she cast her eyes quickly round the room. In one corner was a hat and coat cupboard, and in it was hanging a coat of Woodman’s. Very quickly she went through the pockets. The only papers were a number of restaurant bills, evidently stuffed in hastily and forgotten. Joan confiscated them, without much hope that they would be of use. Then, in the bottom of the cupboard, she noticed a hand-bag, twin brother of the one she had been on the point of examining at the hotel. Hastily she opened it. Apparently it was empty; but, feeling round the corners, Joan found a hard object—a coat button—which she quickly transferred to her purse. Then, putting back the bag and closing the cupboard, she returned to the outer room. A talk with the clerk might have its uses.
“Mr. Woodman has been looking rather ill just lately,” Joan began. “Do you think he is really unwell?”
“I must say, miss, he’s not well. Between you and me, miss, he’s been badly worried.”
“About these terrible murders, you mean?”
“About them, miss, and about other things. Mr. Woodman wouldn’t like my saying so, but he has had terrible worries.”
“Oh, dear, I hope nothing serious.”
“Oh, probably not, miss, and you mustn’t say a word about it to any one. I ought not to have said what I did say. But I’m worried too. You’ll be sure not to mention it, miss, won’t you?”
“All right, Moorman, don’t you worry.”