LITMIR.BIZ

      There are three of them, as you will see, all reception-rooms. Mr. Ransom had passed through them all in looking for his wife. In No. 1 he found several ladies sitting and standing, all strangers. He encountered no one in No. 2, and in No. 3 just one person, a lady in street costume evidently waiting for some one. To this lady he had addressed himself, asking if she had seen any one pass that way the moment before. Her reply was a decided "No"; that she had been waiting in that same room for several minutes and had seen no one. This staggered him. It was as if his wife had dissolved into thin air. True, she might have eluded him by slipping out into the hall by means of door two at the moment he entered door one; and alert to this possibility, he hastened back into the hall to look for her. But she was nowhere visible, nor had she been observed leaving the building by the man stationed at entrance A. But there was another exit, that of B. Had she gone out that way? Mr. Ransom had taken pains to inquire and had been assured by the man in charge that no lady had left by that door during the last ten minutes. This he had insisted on, and when Mr. Loomis and the detective came in their turn to question him on this point he insisted on it again. The mystery seemed complete,—at least to the manager. But the detective was not quite satisfied. He asked the man if at any time that day, before or after Mrs. Ransom's disappearance, he had swung the door open for a lady who walked lame. The answer was decisive. "Yes; one who walked as if her shoes were tight."

      "When?"

      "Oh a little while after the gentleman asked his questions."

      "Was she dressed in brown?"

      That he didn't know. He didn't look at ladies' dresses unless they were something special.

      "But she walked lame and she came from Room 3?"

      Yes. He remembered that much.

      Gerridge, with a nod to the manager, stepped into the open compartment of the whirling door. "I'm off," said he. "Expect to hear from me in two hours."

      At twenty minutes to ten Mr. Ransom was called up on the telephone.

      "One question, Mr. Ransom."

      "Hello, who are you?"

      "Gerridge."

      "All right, go ahead."

      "Did you see the face of the woman you spoke to in Room No. 3?"

      "Of course. She was looking directly at me."

      "You remember it? Could identify it if you saw it again?"

      "Yes; that is—"

      "That's all, good-by."

      The circuit was cut off.

      Another intolerable wait. Then there came a knock on the door and Gerridge entered. He held a photograph in his hand which he had evidently taken from his pocket on his way up.

      "Look at this," said he. "Do you recognize the face?"

      "The lady—"

      "Just so; the one who said she had seen no one come into No. 3 on the first floor."

      Mr. Ransom's expression of surprised inquiry was sufficient answer.

      "Well, it's a pity you didn't look at her gloves instead of at her face. You might have had some dim idea of having seen them before. It was she who rode to the hotel with you; not your wife. The veil was wound around her face for a far deeper purpose than to ward off rice."

      Mr. Ransom staggered back against the table before which he had been standing. The blow was an overwhelming one.

      "Who is this woman?" he demanded. "She came from Mr. Fulton's house. More than that, from my wife's room. What is her name and what did she mean by such an outrage?"

      "Her name is Bella Burton, and she is your wife's confidential maid. As for the meaning of this outrage, it will take more than two hours to ferret out that. I can only give you the single fact I've mentioned."

      "And Mrs. Ransom?"

      "She left the house at the same moment you did; you and Miss Burton. Only she went by the basement door."

      "She? She?"

      "Dressed in her maid's clothes. Oh, you'll have to hear worse things than that before we're out of this muddle. If you won't mind a bit of advice from a man of experience, I would suggest that you take things easy. It's the only way."

      Shocked into silence by this cold-blooded philosophy, Mr. Ransom controlled both his anger and his humiliation; but he could not control his surprise.

      "What does it mean?" he murmured to himself. "What does it all mean?"

      CHAPTER III

      "HE KNOWS THE WORD"

      The next moment the doubt natural to the occasion asserted itself.

      "How do you know all this? You state the impossible. Explain yourself."

      Gerridge was only too willing to do so.

      "I have just come from Mr. Fulton's house," said he. "Inquiries there elicited the facts which have so startled you. Neither Mr. Fulton nor his wife meant to deceive you. They knew nothing, suspected nothing of what took place, and you have no cause to blame them. It was all a plot between the two women."

      "But how—why—"

      "You see, I had a fact to go upon. You had noticed that your so-called bride's gloves did not fit her; the boy below, that her shoes were so tight she hobbled. That set me thinking. A woman of Mrs. Ransom's experience and judgment would not be apt to make a mistake in two such important particulars; which, taken with the veil and the promise she exacted from you not to address or touch her during your short ride to the hotel, led me to point my inquiries so that I soon found out that your wife had had the assistance of another woman in getting ready for her journey and that this woman was her own maid who had been with her for a long time, and had always given evidence of an especial attachment for her. Asking about this girl's height and general appearance (for the possibility of a substitution was already in my mind), I found that she was of slight figure and good carriage, and that her age was not far removed from that of her young mistress. This made the substitution I have mentioned feasible, and when I was told that she was seen taking her hat and bonnet into the bride's room, and,

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