Arthur B. Reeve

“ She was a striking woman, dark of hair and skin. In life she must have been sensuously attractive. But now her face was drawn and contorted with a ghastly look.
There she lay, alone, in an elegantly appointed room of an exclusive hotel. Only a few feet away were hundreds of gay guests chatting and laughing, with no idea of the terrible tragedy so near them.
In the comer of the room I could see her maid sobbing hysterically. ”

“ I tell you, Kennedy, we’ve got to protect the reputation of the hotel against such things. Now, if you’ll take the case, I’ll see that you don’t lose anything by it.”
“Gladly,” replied Kennedy, to whom a mystery was as the breath of life. Then he added with a smile, “I had tacitly assumed as much after you spoke to me.”
“I meant that you should,” agreed McBride, “and I thank you. Only it is just as well that we understand each other clearly at the outset.”
“Exactly. Has anything in Madame Valcour’s actions about the hotel offered a clue—ever so slight?” ”

“ McBride pursued, uninterrupted by Kennedy who was only too glad to glean any impression the house-man might have received, “I was never quite able to fathom her. You see, yourself, that she could not even have made much of a confidant of her maid. She was just the type I should pick out as—as the agent of somebody.”
“You mean that she was playing a game?” I interjected.
“Yes,” he acquiesced. “You know as well as I do that if any one wants to accomplish anything, get information that it is hard to get, the first thing necessary is to employ a woman of the world. ”