* * *

It had taken R. Jones just six hours to discover Joan Valentine's
address. That it had not taken him longer is a proof of his
energy and of the excellence of his system of obtaining
information; but R. Jones, when he considered it worth his while,
could be extremely energetic, and he was a past master at the art
of finding out things.

He poured himself out of his cab and rang the bell of Number
Seven. A disheveled maid answered the ring.

"Miss Valentine in?"

"Yes, sir."

R. Jones produced his card.

"On important business, tell her. Half a minute--I'll write it."

He wrote the words on the card and devoted the brief period of
waiting to a careful scrutiny of his surroundings. He looked out
into the court and he looked as far as he could down the dingy
passage; and the conclusions he drew from what he saw were
complimentary to Miss Valentine.

"If this girl is the sort of girl who would hold up Freddie's
letters," he mused, "she wouldn't be living in a place like this.
If she were on the make she would have more money than she
evidently possesses. Therefore, she is not on the make; and I am