"What the dickens - !"

But Kitty was no longer there to answer.

In all newspaper offices there is a department flippantly designated
as the Morgue. Obituaries on ice, as it were. A photograph or an
item concerning a great man, a celebrated, beauty or some notorious
rogue; from the king calibre down to Gyp-the-Blood brand, all
indexed and laid away against the instant need. So, running her
finger tip down the K's, Kitty found Karlov. The half tone which
she eventually exhumed from the tin box was an excellent likeness of
the human gorilla who had entered her rooms with the policeman. She
would be able to carry this positive information to Cutty that
afternoon.

When she left the office at four she took the Subway to Forty-second
Street. She engaged a taxi from the Knickerbocker and discharged it
at the north entrance to the Waldorf, which she entered. She walked
through to the south entrance and got into another taxi. She left
this at Wanamaker's, ducking and dodging through the crowded aisles.
She selected this hour because, being a woman, she knew that the
press of shoppers would be the greatest during the day. Karlov's
man and the secret-service operative detailed by Cutty both made the
same mistake - followed Kitty into the dry-goods shop and lost her
as completely as if she had popped up in China. At quarter to five
she stepped into Elevator Number Four of the building which Cutty
called his home, very well pleased with herself.