“Well,” answered Carton slowly, “I suppose it was partly through a cabaret singer and dancer, Loraine Keith, at the Mayfair.  You know you never get the truth about things in the underworld except in pieces.  As much as any one, I think we have been able to use her to weave a web about him.  Besides, she seems to think that Haddon has treated her shamefully.  According to her story, he seems to have been lavishing everything on her, but lately, for some reason, has deserted her.  Still, even in her jealousy she does not accuse any other woman of winning him away.”

“Perhaps it is the opposite—­another man winning her,” suggested Craig dryly.

“It’s a peculiar situation,” shrugged Carton.  “There is another man.  As nearly as I can make out there is a fellow named Brodie who does a dance with her.  But he seems to annoy her, yet at the same time exercises a sort of fascination over her.”

“Then she is dancing at the Mayfair yet?” hastily asked Craig.

“Yes.  I told her to stay, not to excite suspicion.”

“And Haddon knows?”

“Oh, no.  But she has told us enough about him already so that we can worry him, apparently, just as what he can tell us would worry the others interested in the hotels.  To tell the truth, I think she is a drug fiend.  Why, my men tell me that they have seen her take just a sniff of something and change instantly—­become a willing tool.”

“That’s the way it happens,” commented Kennedy.

“Now, I’ll go up there and meet Haddon,” resumed Carton.  “After I have been with him long enough to get into his confidence, suppose you two just happen along.”

Half an hour later Kennedy and I sauntered into the Prince Henry, where Carton had made the appointment in order to avoid suspicion that might arise if he were seen with Haddon at the Mayfair.

The two men were waiting for us—­Haddon, by contrast with Carton, a weak-faced, nervous man, with bulgy eyes.

“Mr. Haddon,” introduced Carton, “let me present a couple of reporters from the Star—­off duty, so that we can talk freely before them, I can assure you.  Good fellows, too, Haddon.”

The hotel and cabaret keeper smiled a sickly smile and greeted us with a covert, questioning glance.

“This attack on Mr. Carton has unnerved me,” he shivered.  “If any one dares to do that to him, what will they do to me?”

“Don’t get cold feet, Haddon,” urged Carton.  “You’ll be all right.  I’ll swing it for you.”

Haddon made no reply.  At length he remarked:  “You’ll excuse me for a moment.  I must telephone to my hotel.”

He entered a booth in the shadow of the back of the cafe, where there was a slot-machine pay-station.  “I think Haddon has his suspicions,” remarked Carton, “although he is too prudent to say anything yet.”

A moment later he returned.  Something seemed to have happened.  He looked less nervous.  His face was brighter and his eyes clearer.  What was it, I wondered?  Could it be that he was playing a game with Carton and had given him a double cross?  I was quite surprised at his next remark.