Only the house number had been told in the message, so when Fessenden found himself in the vestibule of an apartment house, with sixteen names above corresponding bells, he was a bit taken aback.

“I wish I’d started earlier,” he thought, “for it’s a matter of trying them all until I strike the right one.”

But he fancied he could deduce something from the names themselves, at least, for a start.

Eliminating one or two Irish sounding names, also a Smith and a Miller, he concluded to try first two names which were doubtless French.

The first gave him no success at all, but, undiscouraged, he tried the other.

“I wish to see Miss Dupuy,” he said, to the woman who opened the door.

“She is not here,” was the curt answer. But the intelligence in the woman’s eye at the mention of the name proved to Fessenden that at least this was the place.