Then he searched the bureau drawers, dressers, desks for any sign or clew of the girl in the chinchillas. There was no dust anywhere,—the hotel management evidently was particular—but there was not even a pin to be found.
Presently he went out into the corridor and looked again at the number on the door. He had made no mistake.
Then he turned and sped down the long corridor to where the matron was standing beside her desk preparing to go off duty as soon as the other matron arrived to relieve her.
To his impatient question she replied positively that she had seen the girl in chinchillas unlock 408 and enter the apartment less than five minutes before he had arrived in pursuit.
“And I saw her lights go on as soon as she went in,” added the matron, pointing to the distant illuminated transom.
“Then she went out through into the next apartment,” insisted Cleves.
“The fire-tower is on one side of her; the scullery closet on the other,” said the matron. “She could not have left that apartment without coming out into the corridor. And if she had come out I should have seen her.”
“I tell you she isn’t in those rooms!” protested Cleves.
“She must be there, sir. I saw her go in a few seconds before you came up.”
At that moment the other matron arrived. There was no use arguing. He left the explanation of the situation to the woman who was going off duty, and, hastening his steps, he returned to apartment 408.