I said, “Did you try to reach her at the Bickmere Hotel, Doctor?”
“Yes,” he said. “I wrote her a letter. It was returned with a statement that no such party was registered there.”
I studied the letter for a while, and then said, “What was her maiden name?”
“Sellar. Amelia Rosa Sellar.”
“Did she have any parents living?”
“No, no relatives. An aunt back East had raised her, but the aunt died when she was seventeen. She’s been on her own since then.”
“I presume you didn’t try very hard to locate her when this first letter was written?”
“I didn’t employ detectives,” he said, “if that’s what you mean. I wrote to her at the hotel. When, my letter was returned, I took it for granted she’d simply used the hotel stationery as a blind.”
“At that time,” I said, “she wasn’t trying to keep under cover. She had the whip hand and knew it. She wasn’t trying to get property then. She was simply trying to keep you from making Vivian Carter Mrs. Alftmont.”
“Then why didn’t she let me know where I could reach her?” he asked.