“My uncle and me,” she answered.

I looked at her curiously.

“Tell me,” I said, “why you think that?  Your uncle is a man of position, and has legitimate business here.  Why should he be watched by detectives?”

She shook her head.

“I suppose it is because we are foreigners,” she said, “but ever since my uncle fetched me from Bordeaux we seem to have been watched by some one wherever we go.”

“You will not suffer much from that sort of thing over here,” I remarked cheerfully.  “England is not a police-ridden country like Germany, or even France.”

“I know,” she answered, “and yet I have told you before how I feel about arriving in England.  There seems something unfriendly in the very atmosphere, something which depresses me, which makes me feel as though there were evil times coming.”

I laughed reassuringly.

“You are giving way to fancies,” I said.  “I am sure that London is doing its best for you.  See, the rain is all over.  We have even continental weather to welcome you.  Look at the moon.  For London, too,” I added, “the streets seem almost gay.”

She leaned out of the window.  A full moon was shining in a cloudless sky.  The theatres were just over.  The pavements were thronged with men and women, and the streets were blocked with carriages and hansoms on their way to the various restaurants.  At the entrance to the Milan our omnibus was stopped for several moments whilst motors and carriages of all descriptions, with their load of men and women in evening clothes, passed slowly by and turned in at the courtyard.  We found ourselves at last at the doors of the hotel, and I received the usual welcome from my friend the hall-porter.

“Back again once more, you see, Ashley,” I remarked.  “I have brought Miss Delora on from the station.  Her uncle is here already.  We came over by the same train.”

The reception clerk stepped forward and smilingly acknowledged my greeting.  He bowed, also, to my companion.

“We are very pleased to see you, Miss Delora,” he said.  “We were expecting you and Mr. Delora to-night.”

“My uncle came on at once from the station,” she said, “He was not feeling very well.”

The clerk bowed, but seemed a little puzzled.

“Will you tell me where I can find Mr. Delora?” she asked.

“Mr. Delora has not yet arrived, madam,” the clerk answered.

She looked at him for a moment, speechless.

“Not arrived?” I interrupted.  “Surely you must be mistaken, Dean!  He left Charing Cross half an hour before us.”

The clerk shook his head.

“I am quite sure, Captain Rotherby,” he said, “that Mr. Delora has not been here to claim his rooms.  He may have entered the hotel from the other side, and be in the smoking-room or the American bar, but he has not been here.”

There was a couch close by, and my companion sat down.  I could see that she had turned very white.