Having never been to Geneva before, and being entirely ignorant of the accommodations afforded by either of these houses of entertainment, Manning, at a hazard, selected the “Geneva Hotel” as his place of abode.  Consigning his valise to the care of the waiting porter, he was soon on his way to that hostelrie, and serenely journeyed along through the darkness, all unconscious of the reception that awaited him.  On arriving at their destination, he perceived through the glimmering light that hung over the doorway, that the “Geneva Hotel” was an old, rambling frame structure, which stood in the midst of an overgrowth of bushes and shrubbery.  So dense was the foliage that the detective imagined the air of the place was damp and unwholesome in consequence.  Certain it was, as he discovered afterward, the air and sunshine had a desperate struggle almost daily to obtain an entrance into the building, and after a few hours engaged in the vain attempt, old Sol would vent his baffled rage upon the worm-eaten old roof, to the decided discomfort of the lodgers in the attic story.

Ceremony was an unheard-of quality at the “Geneva House,” and the railway porter performed the multifarious duties of night clerk, porter, hall boy and hostler.  As they entered the hotel, the porter lighted a small lamp with the aid of a stable lantern, and without further parley led the detective up two flights of stairs which cracked and groaned under their feet, as if complaining of their weight, and threatening to precipitate them to the regions below.  Opening the door of a little box of a room, out of which the hot air came rushing like a blast from a furnace fire, the porter placed the lamp upon a dilapidated wash-stand and the valise upon the floor, and without uttering a word, took himself off.

With all its progressiveness, it was evident that Geneva was far behind the age in regard to her hotel accommodations; at least so thought Manning as he gazed disconsolately around upon his surroundings.  The room was small, close and hot, while the furniture exceeded his powers of description.  The unpainted wash-stand seemed to poise itself uneasily upon its three remaining legs—­the mirror had evidently been the resort of an army of self-admiring flies, who had left their marks upon its leaden surface until reflection was impossible—­two hard and uncomfortable-looking chairs—­and a bed, every feature of which was a sonorous protest against being slept upon—­completed the provisions which had been made for his entertainment and comfort.  Casting a dismal look upon his uninviting quarters, but being thoroughly tired, the detective threw himself upon the couch, which rattled and creaked under him like old bones, and in a few moments was sound asleep.

How long he might have remained in this somnolent condition if left to himself, it is impossible to state, for a vigorous alarm upon his door cut short his slumbers, and startled him from his dreams.