in Geary Street, I think it was, for supper and to dance, and came back to the hotel at about half-past twelve. Floyd left me at the door and I stood inside and watched Mr. Archer follow him down the street, on the other side.”
“Down? You mean towards Market Street?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know what they’d be doing in the neighborhood of Bush and Stockton, where Archer was shot?”
“Isn’t that near where Floyd lived?”
“No. It would be nearly a dozen blocks out of his way if he was going from your hotel to his. Well, what did you do after they had gone?”
“I went to bed. And this morning when I went out for breakfast I saw the headlines in the papers and read about—you know. Then I went up to Union Square, where I had seen automobiles for hire, and got one and went to the hotel for my luggage. After I found my room had been searched yesterday I knew I would have to move, and I had found this place yesterday afternoon. So I came up here and then telephoned your office.”
“Your room at the St. Mark was searched?” he asked.
“Yes, while I was at your office.” She bit her lip. “I didn’t mean to tell you that.”
“That means I’m not supposed to question you about it?”
She nodded shyly.
He frowned.
She moved his hat a little in her hands.