“I left her with Mr. Starling,” Arnold continued.  “He was going to take her home.”

“Was Starling lunching there?” Mr. Weatherley asked.

“We saw him afterwards, coming up from the restaurant,” Arnold replied.  “He did not seem to have been in the Grill Room at all.”

Mr. Weatherley sat back in his chair and for several minutes he remained silent.  His eyes were fixed upon vacancy, his lips moved once or twice, but he said nothing.  He seemed, indeed, to have lost the power of speech.

“It is extraordinary how the affair could have happened, almost unnoticed, in such a crowded place,” Arnold went on, feeling somehow that it was best for him to talk.  “There is nearly always a little stream of people coming in, or a telephone boy, or some one passing, but it happened that Mr. Rosario came in alone.  He had just handed his silk hat to the cloakroom attendant, who had turned away with it, when the man who killed him slipped out from somewhere, caught him by the throat, and it was all over in a few seconds.  The murderer seems to have kept his face entirely hidden.  They do not appear to have found a single person who could identify him.  I had a table quite close to the door, as you told me, and I really saw the blow struck.  We rushed outside, but, though I don’t believe we were more than a few seconds, there wasn’t a soul in sight.”

“The police will find out something,” Mr. Weatherley muttered.  “They are sure to find out something.”

“Some people think,” Arnold continued, “that the man never left the hotel, or, if he did, that he was taken away in a motor car.  The whole hotel was being searched very carefully when I left.”

There was a knock at the door.  Mr. Jarvis, who had been unable to restrain his curiosity any longer, brought some letters in for signature.

“If you can spare a moment, sir,” he began, apologetically, “there is this little matter of Bland & Company’s order.  I have brought the reports with me.”

Mr. Weatherley felt his feet upon the ground again.  He turned to the papers which his clerk laid before him and gave them his close attention.  When Arnold would have left the room, however, he signed impatiently to him to remain.  As soon as he had given his instructions, and Mr. Jarvis had left the room, he turned once more to Arnold.

“Chetwode,” he said, looking at him critically, “you appear to me to be a young man of athletic build.”

Arnold was quite speechless.

“I mean that you could hold your own in a tussle, eh?  You look strong enough to knock any one down who attempted to take liberties with you.”

Arnold smiled.

“I dare say I might manage that, sir,” he admitted.

“Very well—­very well, then,” Mr. Weatherley repeated.  “Have your desk moved in here at once, Chetwode.  You can have it placed just where you like.  You’ll get the light from that window if you have the easy-chair moved and put in the corner there against the wall.  Understand that from now on you are my private secretary, and you do not leave this room, whoever may come in to see me, except by my special instructions.  You understand that, eh?”