“I have,” said Durand quietly.
“Did he give you any idea of why he wanted you to come?”
“He intimated that he was on the point of finding—my wife.”
“I see. Your wife disappeared under unusual circumstances some fifteen years ago, in India?”
“Precisely.”
“Did you ever hear of her after that?”
“Never. There were many false reports, of course. We followed them all up, but none of them came to anything in the end.”
“You never heard of her at Nice? Or in New York?”
“No—I don’t think those were among the places. I’m sure they weren’t.”
“You would, of course, know her if you saw her now?”
Durand looked up with sudden interest. “I fancy I would. She was only eighteen when she was—lost.” Miss Morrow felt a quick twinge of pity for the man. “But one doesn’t forget, you know.”
“Major,” said Flannery slowly, “we have every reason to believe that your wife is in this building tonight.”
Durand took a startled step backward. Then he sadly shook his head. “I wish it were true. You’ve no idea—fifteen years’ anxiety—it rather takes it out of a chap. One stops hoping, after a time. Ah, yes—I wish it were true—but there have been so many disappointments. I can not hope any more.”
“Please wait just a minute,” Flannery said, and went out.
A strained silence followed his exit. The ticking of a tall clock in a corner became suddenly like the strokes of a hammer. Durand began to pace the floor.
“It can’t be,” he cried to Duff. “No—it can’t be Eve. After all these years—in San Francisco—no, no—I can’t believe it.”
“We shall know in a moment, old chap,” Duff said gently.
The moments lengthened horribly. Chan began to wonder. Durand continued to pace back and forth, silently, over the rug. Still the hammer strokes of the clock. Five minutes—ten—
The outer door was flung open and Flannery burst into the room. His face was crimson, his gray hair disheveled.
“She’s gone!” he cried. “Her elevator’s standing at the seventh floor, with the door open. She’s gone, and no one saw her go!”
Durand gave a little cry and sinking into a chair, buried his face in his hands.
XIII
Old Friends Meet Again
Major Durand was not the only one to whom Flannery’s news came as a shock and a disappointment. On the faces of the four other people in that room dismay was clearly written.
“Gone, and no one saw her go,” Chan repeated. He looked reprovingly at the Captain. “Yet she was under watchful eye of clever mainland police.”
Flannery snorted. “She was, but we’re not supermen. That woman’s as slippery as an eel. There were two of my boys on the job—both keen lads—well, no use crying over spilt milk. I’ll get her. She can’t—”
The door opened and a plain clothes man entered, bringing with him a little old cleaning woman with straggling gray hair.
“Hello, Petersen—what is it?” Flannery asked.
“Listen to this, Chief,” said Petersen. “This woman was working in an office on the seventh floor.” He turned to her. “Tell the Captain what you told me.”
The woman twisted her apron nervously. “In 709 I was, sir. They go home early, and I was alone there at my work. The door opens and this redheaded elevator girl runs in. She’s got on a raincoat, and a hat. ‘What’s the matter?’ I says, but she just runs on into the back room, and sort of wondering, I follow her. I’m just in time to see her climb on to the fire-escape. Never a word she said, sir—she just disappeared in the night.”
“The fire-escape,” repeated Flannery. “I thought so. Have you looked at it, Petersen?”
“Yes, sir. It’s one of those—you know—a person’s weight lets down the last flight of steps to the ground. A simple matter to go like that.”
“All right,” Flannery answered. “Someone must have seen her when she came out of the alley. We’ll go down and have a look round.” He turned to the cleaning woman. “That’s all. You can go.”
The woman passed a second plain clothes man in the hall. He came quickly into the living-room.
“I’ve got a lead, Captain,” he said. “Boy in the cigar store on the corner. He says a girl with a Kirk Building uniform under her coat rushed in a few minutes ago and used his telephone.”
“Did he hear the call?”
“No, sir. It’s a booth phone. She was there only a few minutes, and then she hurried out again.”
“Well, that’s something,” Flannery said. “You boys wait for me—I’ve got a car. First of all, I’ll send out the alarm. I’ll have men at the ferries and the railroad stations—she’s a marked woman with that uniform. I’ll pick her up before midnight—”
“On what charge?” asked Miss Morrow gently.
“Oh—oh, well—as a witness. I’ll take her as a witness. Still that will mean a lot of publicity I don’t want at this time. I have it. I’ll take her on a charge of stealing. The uniform is your property, Mr. Kirk?”
“Yes—but I don’t like that,” protested Kirk.
“Oh, it’s just a fake. We won’t press it. I’ve got to get her on some pretext. Now—if I can use your phone—”
Flannery talked to some purpose to the station house, and the hue and cry after that elusive woman was once more under way. He rose full of energy.
“I’ll get her,” he promised. “It’s a bad setback to our plans, but it’s only for a minute. She can’t get away—”
“She is one who has had some success at getting away in the past,” Chan reminded him.
“Yeah—but not this time,” answered the Captain. “She’s never had me on her trail before.” He blustered out, followed by his two men.
Major Durand slumped dejectedly in his chair. Inspector Duff was puffing calmly on his well-seasoned pipe.
“It’s a bit of hard luck,” he remarked. “But patience—that’s what counts in this work, eh, Sergeant Chan?”
Charlie beamed. “At last I meet fellow detective who talks same language with me.”
Barry Kirk rose and
