Kennedy had succeeded in finding the alcove of the floor clerk in charge of the fifth floor.  There on his desk was an instrument having a stylus on the end of two arms, connected to a system of magnets.  It was a telautograph.

Unceremoniously, Craig pushed the clerk out of his seat and sat down himself.  It was a last chance, now that the telephone was out of commission.

Downstairs, in the hotel office, where the excitement had not spread to everyone, was the other end of the electric long distance writer.

It started to write, as Kennedy wrote, upstairs: 

“House detective—­quick—­hold woman with blue chatelaine bag, getting out of elevator.”

The clerks downstairs saw it and shouted above the din of the rat-baiting.

“McCann—­McCann!”

The clerk had torn off the message from the telautograph register, and handed it to the house man who pushed his way to the desk.

Quickly the detective called to the bell-hops.  Together they hurried after the well-dressed woman who had just swept out of the elevator.  Mary had already passed through the excited lobby and out, and was about to cross the street—­safe.

McCann and the bell-hops were now in full cry after her.  Flight was useless.  She took refuge in indignation and threats.

But McCann was obdurate.  She passed quickly to tears and pleadings.  It had no effect.  They insisted on leading her back.  The game was up.

Even an offer of money failed to move their adamantine hearts.  Nothing would do but that she must face her accusers.

In the meantime Long Sin had recovered his precious and useful pets.  Life in the Coste had assumed something of its normal aspect, and Craig had succeeded in getting an elevator.

It was just as Mary was led in threatening and pleading by turns that he stepped off in the lobby.

There was, however, still just enough excitement to cover a little pantomime.  Long Sin had been about to slip out of a side door, thinking all was well, when he caught sight of Mary being led back.  She had also seen him, and began to struggle again.

Quickly he shook his head, indicating for her to stop.  Then slowly he secretly made the sign of the Clutching Hand at her.  It meant that she must not snitch.

She obeyed instantly, and he quietly disappeared.

“Here,” cried Kennedy, “take her up in the elevator.  I’ll prove the case.”

With the house detective and Kennedy, Mary was hustled into the elevator and whisked back as she had escaped.

In the meantime I had gathered up what stuff we had in the room we had entered and had returned with Kennedy’s bag.

“Wh—­what’s it all about?” inquired Elaine excitedly.

I tried to explain.

Just then, out in the hall we could hear loud voices, and that of Mary above the rest.  Kennedy, a man who looked like a detective, and some bell-boys were leading her toward us.