He shut the album and walked away.
The detective never let a trail get cold, and therefore he proceeded to a part of the city where he hoped to strike Mag’s trail.
“The Lord deliver us! Here’s Mr. Carter!” cried a woman’s shrill voice, as the detective opened a door and confronted a female at a table.
The woman had seen better days, for an air of refinement still lingered about the place, the appointments of which were poor.
She sat bolt upright, looking into the face she had instantly recognized, and the detective stood for a moment at the door.
“You don’t want me, I hope?” asked the woman.
“Not at all, Sybil.”
“That’s good, but I couldn’t see how you would, seeing that I’ve been good for three years.”
“I know that, and you’re to have all the credit, too.”
“Thank you, Mr. Carter. But if you had come a little sooner you might have seen an old friend,” and the woman laughed.