“Sam,” called the telephone girl, “take this gentleman up to forty-three.”
“Forty-three's out.” Sam partly shut the elevator door; he had seen Forty-three's rooms the night before, and he had the discretion of his race. “Went out with a lady at quarter to five.”
Willy Cameron took a step or two toward the cage.
“You don't happen to be lying, I suppose?”
“No, sir!” said Sam. “I'll take you up to look, if you like. And about an hour ago he sent a boy here with a note, to get some of his clothes. The young lady at the desk was out at the movies at the time.”
“I was getting my supper, Sam.”
Willy Cameron had gone very white.
“Did the boy say where he was taking the things?”
“To the Saint Elmo Hotel, sir.”
On the street again Willy Cameron took himself fiercely in hand. There were a half-dozen reasons why Akers might go to the Saint Elmo. He might, for one thing, have thought that he, Cameron, would go back to the Benedict. He might be hiding from Dan, or from reporters. But there had been, apparently, no attempt to keep his new quarters secret. If Lily was at the Saint Elmo—