merely helped her to a cab. Then followed a round of the cab-drivers. On the third day a chauffeur was found who vaguely remembered such a woman. He had driven her to an English pension known as Beaver Hall Chambers, on Beaver Hall Hill.
It did not take Kestner long to authenticate this. But the lady, who called herself Miss Farr, had left Beaver Hall Chambers weeks before. She had paid a full week's rent, yet she had stayed only three days. The one hint worth while was that given by a chamber maid, who remembered the lady telephoning about painting on ivory.
Kestner promptly looked up every miniature painter in the city. He eventually unearthed the artist to whom Miss Farr had applied for work. She had painted for a week in this Philips Square studio, and had proved herself clever enough. But she had met a Devonshire woman, an invalid, on her way to Banff, and had caught at the chance of going West, as a companion. So Kestner went on to Banff.
She had been in Banff for weeks. There was no doubt of that. The little mountain town was full of impressions of her. She and the eccentric-minded English patient had lived much in the open air, had ridden and fished and golfed and had once motored down to Calgary. She had also been seen sketching at Devil's Lake, and a local hotel had even bought a couple of her water-colours.
By this time Kestner knew the trail was genuine.
He followed that trail up to Victoria. There Maura Lambert and her patient had parted company, the invalid being joined by her son and going on to
