“Monsieur Louis,” he announced, “returned early this morning.”

“He is not here now?” I asked, looking around the room.

The waiter smiled deprecatingly.

“But for the early breakfast, no, sir!” he said.  “Monsieur Louis will come at one o’clock, perhaps,—­perhaps not until dinner-time.  He will be here to-day, though.”

I unfolded my paper and looked through the list of accidents.  There was nothing which could possibly have applied to Mr. Delora.  I waited until eleven o’clock, and then sent up my name to Miss Delora.  A reply came back almost at once,—­Miss Delora had gone out an hour ago, and had left no word as to the time of her return.  Once more I was puzzled.  Why should she go out unless she had received some news?  She had told me that she had no friends in London.  It was scarcely likely that she would go out on any casual expedition in her present state of uncertainty.  I made my way to the manager’s office, whom I knew very well, and with whom I had often had a few minutes’ talk.  He received me with his usual courtesy, and gave me a handful of cigarettes to try.  I lit one, and seated myself in his easy-chair.

“Mr. Helmsley,” I said, “you know that I am not, as a rule, a curious person, and I should not like to ask you any questions which you thought improper ones, but you have some guests staying here in whom I am somewhat interested.”

Mr. Helmsley nodded, and by his genial silence invited me to proceed.

“I mean Mr. Delora and his niece,” I continued.

The smile faded from the manager’s face.

“The gentleman who did not arrive last night?” he remarked.

I nodded.

“I travelled up with them,” I said, “from Folkestone, and certainly Mr. Delora’s behavior was a little peculiar as we neared London.  He seemed nervous, and anxious to quit the train at the earliest possible moment.  I brought his niece on here, as you know, found that he had not arrived, and I understand that, up to the present, nothing has been heard of him.”

“It is quite true,” Mr. Helmsley admitted thoughtfully.  “The matter was reported to me last night, and very soon afterwards an inspector from Scotland Yard called.  I gave him all the information I could, naturally, but on reference to the young lady she declined to consider the matter seriously at all.  Her uncle, she said, had probably met some friends, or had made a call upon the way.  Under the circumstances, there was nothing else to do but to drop the matter, so far as any direct inquiries were concerned.”

I nodded.

“But the man himself?” I asked.  “What do you know of him?”

“I have always understood,” Mr. Helmsley said slowly, “that he was a gentleman from South America who had large coffee plantations, and who came over every year to sell his produce.  He has stayed at the hotel about this time for the last four years.  He has always engaged a good suite of rooms, has paid his accounts promptly,—­I really do not know anything more about him.”