"'Captain Hallowell,' she repeats after me. 'Where does he live?'
"'He has a villa out in San Miguel, on th' Pasig,' I says. 'He an' Lieutenant-Commander Mathison live there together.'
"'He's not married, then?'
"I laughs. 'No, lady. Both of 'em are gun-shy.' She looks puzzled an' I adds, 'They don't have nothin' t' do with the ladies, miss.'
"'Oh! Then he's th' inventor?'
"'That's him, miss.' Then I freezes up a bit, rememberin' orders. I'm t' report anybody who asks questions about ol' Pop. But I tumbles that she ain't no officer's wife or nothin', an' I asks what he'd said to her.
"'He mistook me for some one else,' she says. So help me, if there's two like that in Manila, th' place is due t' go on th' blink in a week. Then she lowers th' veil an' goes off toward th' exit, me trailin'. Had t' find out where she was puttin' up. An' hang me if she doesn't go plump into that joint in th' Escolta where Murphy an' me was thrown out last month an' just missed restin' up in th' brig. Which shows that you can't dope a woman out by her looks."
The young woman—she was possibly twenty-six—eventually reached her room. Her maid welcomed her effusively.
"Sarah we must leave here at once. Pack."
"Another hotel before we sail?" cried the astonished maid.