“Not sure.  But then the wall safe shows no marks, and the replica is gone.”

“Might I see your jewel case?” he asked.

“Surely.  I’ll get it.  The wall safe is in Lynn’s room.  I shall probably have to fuss a long time with the combination.”

In fact she could not have been very familiar with it for it took several minutes before she returned.  Meanwhile, Kennedy, who had been drumming absently on the arms of his chair, suddenly rose and walked quietly over to a scrap basket that stood beside an escritoire.  It had evidently just been emptied, for the rooms must have been cleaned several hours before.  He bent down over it and picked up two scraps of paper adhering to the wicker work.  The rest had evidently been thrown away.

I bent over to read them.  One was: 

—­rest Nettie—­
—­dying to see—­

The other read: 

—­cherche to-d
—­love and ma
—­rman.

What did it mean?  Hastily, I could fill in “Dearest Nettie,” and “I am dying to see you.”  Kennedy added, “The Recherche to-day,” that being the name of a new apartment uptown, as well as “love and many kisses.”  But “—­rman”—­what did that mean?  Could it be Herman—­Herman Schloss?

She was returning and we resumed our seats quickly.

Kennedy took the jewel case from her and examined it carefully.  There was not a mark on it.

“Mrs. Moulton,” he said slowly, rising and handing it back to her, “have you told me all?”

“Why—­yes,” she answered.

Kennedy shook his head gravely.

“I’m afraid not.  You must tell me everything.”

“No—­no,” she cried vehemently, “there is nothing more.”

We left and outside the Deluxe he paused, looked about, caught sight of a taxicab and hailed it.

“Where?” asked the driver.

“Across the street,” he said, “and wait.  Put the window in back of you down so I can talk.  I’ll tell you where to go presently.  Now, Walter, sit back as far as you can.  This may seem like an underhand thing to do, but we’ve got to get what that woman won’t tell us or give up the case.”

Perhaps half an hour we waited, still puzzling over the scraps of paper.  Suddenly I felt a nudge from Kennedy.  Antoinette Moulton was standing in the doorway across the street.  Evidently she preferred not to ride in her own car, for a moment later she entered a taxicab.

“Follow that black cab,” said Kennedy to our driver.

Sure enough, it stopped in front of the Recherche Apartments and Mrs. Moulton stepped out and almost ran in.

We waited a moment, then Kennedy followed.  The elevator that had taken her up had just returned to the ground floor.

“The same floor again,” remarked Kennedy, jauntily stepping in and nodding familiarly to the elevator boy.

Then he paused suddenly, looked at his watch, fixed his gaze thoughtfully on me an instant, and exclaimed.  “By George—­no.  I can’t go up yet.  I clean forgot that engagement at the hotel.  One moment, son.  Let us out.  We’ll be back again.”