“Send a page-boy round the hotel,” I told the hall-porter, “to inquire if Mr. Delora is in any of the rooms.  If I might make the suggestion,” I continued, turning towards her, “I would go upstairs at once.  You may find, after all, that Mr. Dean has made a mistake, and that your uncle is there.”

“Why, yes!” she declared, jumping up.  “I will go at once.  Do you mind—­will you come with me?”

“With pleasure!” I answered.

I paused for a moment to give some instructions about my own luggage.  Then I stepped into the lift with the clerk and her.

“Your uncle, I hope, is not seriously indisposed, Miss Delora?” he asked.

“Oh, no!” she answered.  “He found the crossing very rough, and he is not very strong.  But I do not think that he is really ill.”

“It is a year since we last had the pleasure,” the clerk continued.

She nodded.

“My uncle was over then,” she remarked.  “For me this is the first time.  I have never been in England before.”

The lift stopped.

“What floor are we on?” the girl asked.

“The fifth,” the clerk answered.  “We have quite comfortable rooms for you, and the aspect that your uncle desired.”

We passed along the corridor and he opened the door, which led into a small hall and on into a sitting-room.  The clerk opened up all the rooms.

“You will see, as I told you before, Miss Delora,” he said, “that there is no one here.  Your uncle’s rooms open out from the right.  The bathroom is to the left there, and beyond are your apartments.”

She peered into each of the rooms.  They were indeed empty.

“The apartments are very nice,” she said, “but I do not understand what has become of my uncle.”

“He will be up in a few minutes, without a doubt,” the clerk remarked.  “Is there anything more that I can do for you, madam?  Shall I send the chambermaid or the waiter to you?”

“Not yet,” she answered.  “I must wait for my uncle.  Will you leave word below that he is to please come up directly he arrives?”

“Certainly, madam!” the clerk answered, turning towards the door.

I should have followed him from the room, but she stopped me.

“Please don’t go,” she said.  “I am very foolish, I know, but I am afraid!”

“I will stay, of course,” I answered, sitting down by her side upon the couch, “but let me assure you that there is nothing whatever to fear.  Your uncle may have had a slight cab accident, or he may have met with a friend and stopped to talk for a few minutes.  In either case he will be here directly.  London, you know, is not the city of mysteries that Paris is.  There is very little, indeed, that can happen to a man between Charing Cross Station and the Milan Hotel.”

She leaned forward a little and buried her face in her hands.

“Please don’t!” I begged.  “Indeed, I mean what I say!  There is no cause to be anxious.  Your uncle spoke of stopping at a chemist’s.  They may be making up his prescription.  A hundred trivial things may have happened to keep him.”