“I see!” Harleston replied. “What would you, as a woman, make her age—being indifferent and strictly truthful?”
“Not over twenty-eight—probably less!” she laughed. “And I’ve a notion she’s some to look at, Mr. Harleston.”
“You mean she’s a beauty?”
“Sure.”
“Call me if she comes back; also if any of the men go out. They are strangers to the Collingwood so you will know them.”
“Very good, Mr. Harleston.”
He hung up the receiver and went back to bed.
If no one had come in and no one had left the Collingwood since his return, the men must have been in the building—unless they had come by another way than the main entrance; which was the only entrance open after midnight. If the former was the case, then someone on the outside must have communicated to them as to him.
With a muttered curse on his stupidity, he returned to the telephone.
“Miss Williams,” said he, “there has been a queer occurrence in the building since two A.M., and I should like to know confidentially whether any one has communicated with an apartment since one thirty.”