West read this over, word by word, again and again.  What did it mean?  Did it mean anything?  Had it any possible connection with the case in which he was interested?  There was no signature, nothing to guide him; yet in some way the plea sounded real, was a cry of distress, an appeal for help.  It could be given no other meaning, yet how long had it been lying there in the alley?  Not any great length of time surely, for the polished silver was far too conspicuous to escape notice.  It must have been dropped during the night, within a very short time of its discovery.  But what did the words signify? “Notify police” was clear enough, but “search Seminole” meant absolutely nothing.  What was “Seminole”—­an apartment house?  A hotel?  A saloon?  Perhaps the police would know; evidently the writer so believed, or she would never have used the name with such confidence.  A familiar name to her, she assumed that the police would have no difficulty in instantly locating the place meant.  The haste with which the message had apparently been written, its short, sharp words, bespoke urgent need, the consciousness of imminent peril.  Plainly the writer had used the only means at hand in a hurried desperate effort to gain assistance.

“The police.”  The request had been for the police; then why not appeal to the police?  Why not take the note now directly to headquarters, and let them help solve its mystery?  At first West hesitated, yet a moment’s thought convinced him this would be the logical course to pursue.  He could accomplish nothing alone, unguided.  His appealing to the police need not necessarily involve any disclosure relative to the Coolidge matter.  He had found this note accidentally in an alley in the northwest section of the city; his being there need require no special explanation; he did not understand its meaning, but it was quite evidently a police matter, and consequently he placed it in their hands.  That all sounded natural enough.  Besides at this hour of the night there was no other place to which he could go for information.

He looked at Sexton, who was sleeping soundly, and decided not to awaken the man.  He had no use for his services just now; the City Hall was only a few blocks away, and he might not be out more than an hour himself.  He would leave a note so that if by any chance he should be delayed, Sexton would understand what had occurred.  He scratched this off hastily, placed it in a conspicuous place, and swiftly departed, after extinguishing the light.  He was no longer conscious of fatigue, or the pain of bruises, his mind eager to learn the meaning of this new discovery.

It had been a quiet night at the City Hall Station, and West encountered no difficulty in reaching the presence of the lieutenant in charge.  The latter gazed at his caller curiously over an early edition of the morning paper, as the officer who had opened the door to the inner office, said rather doubtfully.