Miss Atwood smiled. "He could not have meant anyone in that apartment, for I understand it is occupied only by an elderly couple, a Mr. Ames and his wife. I understood father to say that he had heard they were traveling in Europe. I am sure no one has lived there since we have been in this apartment."
"How long have you been here?" asked Morgan.
"Let me see," said Miss Atwood, thoughtfully. "This is almost the end of October, and we have been here since the middle of July. That is a little over three months, isn't it?"
"July," repeated Morgan. "That isn't a renting season. You must rent this apartment furnished."
"We do," she replied, promptly. "Father was too busy to spend any time on moving, so we stored our things in St. Louis and took this apartment."
"Real estate agents have been making lots of money these days. I hear a great many people have to pay them a bonus for finding apartments. I suppose they stuck you that way, too."
"No," returned the girl. "I understand that father rented direct from the tenant. I believe the tenant was a friend of his, or someone he knew in a business way."
The embroidery which had been lying in Miss Atwood's lap had gradually slipped forward and at this moment dropped to the floor. As she reached down to pick it up, Morgan's alert eyes noted a purplish mark on her forearm.
"You seem to have bruised your arm, Miss Atwood," he said, in a tone that was intended to express sympathy.
"Oh, did you notice that mark?" she exclaimed. "That has been puzzling me all day. I awoke suddenly last night with a feeling as if something had bitten me, but almost immediately went to sleep again. During the morning I noticed this mark and the swelling. I can't imagine what could have done it."