Up to an early hour this morning, the woman occupying the room on the ninth floor of the ill-fated Hotel Van Clair, which burned to the ground shortly after midnight Wednesday, remained unidentified, and no trace of her charred body had been found in the still smoking ruins. The hotel register, the only direct means of identification, has evidently burned and—
With a sudden cry of anguish, he crushed the paper violently between his hands, as if to destroy the devastating news it brought him. The sheet fell to the floor as he stretched his arms out in a gesture of hopelessness.
After a while he became aware of a hand upon his shoulder, and Mary's voice was saying gently, "I heard John leave, so I came back. What is wrong!"
He felt himself crumpling. He leaned against her, raising his fear-stricken eyes to her. "Elise! She's gone. John has been looking for her. He's half crazy. But he'll never find her. I know." And, as her face remained questioning, "The paper says a woman has been burned. The woman was Elise—and I—I sent her there. She came back here that night and—well, she fascinated me. I forgot everything. I was to meet her later at the Van Clair. She left me to meet me there later. Then John telephoned long distance, about the business, and I came to my senses. I didn't go to the hotel. She must have stayed there. The fire broke out half an hour after she left me. So you see, Mary—I sent her there—I killed Elise! And I can never tell John—never!"
Growing horror gathered in her eyes. She whispered, "It is—horrible."
"I sent John away on a fool's errand. I had to have time to think."
She said tensely, "But you say she came back to you, here? It was her idea, your going to the hotel? I know—the fascination of her, Rodrigo. And she went there alone—"
"What difference does that make?" he said wildly. "What good that I came to my senses? I sent her there. And now John! Counting on me to see him through—me!"
"You must tell John," she said firmly.
"I can't!"