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‘That’s all right. No other exit?’

‘It’s a suite, but there are only these two doors into the corridor, and to get out from any of these rooms, they’d have to pass us to get to the staircase or the lifts.’

‘That’s all right then. Just telephone down and find out who is supposed to occupy this suite.’

The waiter returned in a minute or two.

‘Mrs Cortlandt Van Snyder of Detroit.’

Mr Carter became very thoughtful.

‘I wonder now. Is this Mrs Van Snyder an accomplice, or is she –’

He left the sentence unfinished.

‘Hear any noise from inside?’ he asked abruptly.

‘Not a thing. But the doors fit well. One couldn’t hope to hear much.’

Mr Carter made up his mind suddenly.

‘I don’t like this business. We’re going in. Got the master key?’

‘Of course, sir.’

‘Call up Evans and Clydesly.’

Reinforced by the other two men, they advanced towards the door of the suite. It opened noiselessly when the first man inserted his key.

They found themselves in a small hall. To the right was the open door of a bathroom, and in front of them was the sitting-room. On the left was a closed door and from behind it a faint sound–rather like an asthmatic pug–could be heard. Mr Carter pushed the door open and entered.

The room was a bedroom, with a big double bed, ornately covered with a bedspread of rose and gold. On it, bound hand and foot, with her mouth secured by a gag and her eyes almost starting out of her head with pain and rage, was a middle-aged fashionably-dressed woman.

On a brief order from Mr Carter, the other men had covered the whole suite. Only Tommy and his Chief had entered the bedroom. As he leant over the bed and strove to unfasten the knots, Carter’s eyes went roving round the room in perplexity. Save for an immense quantity of truly American luggage, the room was empty. There was no sign of the Russian or Tuppence.

In another minute the waiter came hurrying in, and reported that the other rooms were also empty. Tommy went to the window, only to draw back and shake his head. There was no balcony–nothing but a sheer drop to the street below.

‘Certain it was this room they entered?’ asked Carter peremptorily.

‘Sure. Besides –’ The man indicated the woman on the bed.

With the aid of a pen-knife, Carter parted the scarf that was half choking her and it was at once clear that whatever her sufferings they had not deprived Mrs Cortlandt Van Snyder of the use of her tongue.

When she had exhausted her first indignation, Mr Carter spoke mildly.

‘Would you mind telling me exactly what happened–from the beginning?’

‘I guess I’ll sue the hotel for this. It’s a perfect outrage. I was just looking for my bottle of “Killagrippe”, when a man sprung on me from behind and broke a little glass bottle right under my nose, and before I could get my breath I was all in. When I came to I was lying here, all trussed up, and goodness knows what’s happened to my jewels. He’s gotten the lot, I guess.’

‘Your jewels are quite safe, I fancy,’ said Mr Carter drily. He wheeled round and picked up something from the floor. ‘You were standing just where I am when he sprang upon you?’

‘That’s so,’ assented Mrs Van Snyder.

It was a fragment of thin glass that Mr Carter had picked up. He sniffed it and handed it to Tommy.

‘Ethyl chloride,’ he murmured. ‘Instant anaesthetic. But it only keeps one under for a moment or two. Surely he must still have been in the room when you came to, Mrs Van Snyder?’

‘Isn’t that just what I’m telling you? Oh! it drove me half crazy to see him getting away and me not able to move or do anything at all.’

‘Getting away?’ said Mr Carter sharply. ‘Which way?’

‘Through that door.’ She pointed to one in the opposite wall. ‘He had a girl with him, but she seemed kind of limp as though she’d had a dose of the same dope.’

Carter looked a question at his henchman.

‘Leads into the next suite, sir. But double doors–supposed to be bolted on each side.’

Mr Carter examined the door carefully. Then he straightened himself up and turned towards the bed.

‘Mrs Van Snyder,’ he said quietly, ‘do you still persist in your assertion