"No!" I answered. "I dare say there has been some slight mistake. I fancy that he has telephoned to his niece."

The hall-porter looked a little puzzled.

"It is rather a curious thing, sir," he said, "but there seem to be a good many people who are wanting to see Mr. Delora. We have had at least a dozen inquiries for him during the last few days, and all from people who refuse to leave their names."

I nodded.

"Business friends, perhaps," I remarked. "Mr. Delora comes over to keep friends with his connections here, I suppose."

The hall-porter coughed discreetly but mysteriously.

"No doubt, sir," he remarked.

I went on my way to my rooms, not caring to pursue the conversation.

Yet I felt that there was something beneath it all. Ashley knew or guessed something which he would have told me with very little encouragement. Over a final cigarette I tried to think the matter out. Here were these people, remarkable for nothing except the obviously foreign appearance of the man, and the good taste and beauty of the girl. I had seen them at every fashionable haunt in Paris, and finally at a restaurant which Louis had frankly admitted to be the meeting-place of people whose careers were by no means above suspicion. I had crossed with them to England, and if their presence on the train were not the cause for Louis' insisting upon my hurried departure from Paris, it at any rate afforded him gratification to think that I might, perhaps, make their acquaintance. During the whole of the journey neither of them had made the slightest overture towards me. That we had come together at all was, without doubt, accidental.

I did not for a moment doubt the girl's first att.i.tude of irritation towards me. It was just as certain that her uncle had shown no desire whatever to make my acquaintance. I remembered his curious agitation as we had reached London, his muttered excuse of sea-sickness, and his somewhat extraordinary conduct in leaving his niece alone with me--a perfect stranger--while he hurried off to the hotel at which he had never arrived. Presumably, if that was indeed he who had spoken to the girl upon the telephone, she understood more about the matter than I did. He may have given her some explanation which accounted for his absence. If so, he had obviously desired it to remain a secret. What was the nature of this mystery? Of what was it that he was afraid? Who was this young man who, after his departure, had taken so much interest in his niece and myself at Charing Cross? Was it some one whom he had desired to evade?--a detective, perhaps, or an informer?

The riddle was not easy to solve. Common-sense told me that my wisest course was to fulfil my original intention, and take the first train on the morrow to my brother's house in Norfolk. On the other hand, inclination strongly prompted me to stay where I was, to see this thing through, to see more of Felicia Delora! I was thirty years old, free and unenc.u.mbered, a moderately impressionable bachelor of moderate means. Until the time when the shadow of this tragedy had come into my life, which had found its culmination in the little restaurant of the Place d'Anjou, things had moved smoothly enough with me. I had had the average number of flirtations, many pleasant friendships. Yet I asked myself now whether there was any one in the past who had ever moved me in the same way as this girl, who was still almost a perfect stranger to me. I hated the man, her uncle. I hated the circ.u.mstances under which I had seen her. I hated the mystery by which they were surrounded. It was absolutely maddening for me to reflect that two floors below she was spending the night either with some mysterious and secret knowledge, or in real distress as to her uncle's fate. After all, I told myself a little bitterly, I was a fool! I was old enough to know better! The man himself was an adventurer,--there could be no doubt about it. How was it possible that she could be altogether ignorant of his character?

Then, just as I was half undressed, there came a soft knock at my door. I rose to my feet and stood for a moment undecided. For some time my own personal danger seemed to have slipped out of my memory.

Now it came back with a sudden terrible rush. Perhaps the man Tapilow was dead! If so, this was the end!

I went out into the little hall and opened the door. The corridors outside were dimly lit, but there was no mistaking the two men who stood there waiting for me. One was obviously a police inspector, and the man by his side, although he wore plain clothes, could scarcely be anything but a detective.

CHAPTER XII

FELICIA DELORA

I looked at the two men, and they returned my gaze with interest.

"Are you Captain Rotherby, sir?" the inspector asked.

I nodded.

"That is my name," I said.

"We shall be glad to have a few words with you, sir," he declared.

"You had better come inside," I answered, and led the way into my sitting-room.

"We have been sent for," the inspector continued, "to inquire into the disappearance of Mr. Delora,--the gentleman who was expected to have arrived at this hotel this evening," he added, referring to his notes.

To me, who with a natural egotism had been thinking of my own affairs, and had been expecting nothing less than arrest, this declaration of the object of their visit had its consolations.

"We understand," the inspector continued, "that you travelled with Mr. Delora and his niece from Folkestone to Charing Cross."

"That is quite true," I answered. "The guard put them in my carriage."

"Did you converse with them during the journey, sir?"

"The man was asleep all the way," I answered. "He never even opened his eyes till we were practically in London."

"You talked, perhaps, with the young lady?" the man inquired.

"If I did," I answered serenely, "it seems to me that it was my business."

The police inspector was imperturbable.

"When was the last time you saw this Mr. Delora?" he asked.

"At Charing Cross Station," I answered. "He left the carriage directly the train stopped and went to get a hansom. He had been sea-sick coming over, and was anxious to get to the hotel very quickly."

"Leaving his niece alone?" the man asked.

"Leaving her in my care," I answered. "We were all coming to the same hotel, and the young lady and I had been in conversation for some time."

"He asked you, then, to take care of her?" the man inquired.

"The request as he made it," I answered, "was a perfectly natural one. By the bye," I continued, "who sent for you?"

"We were advised of Mr. Delora's disappearance by the proprietor of the hotel," the inspector answered.

"How do you know that it is a disappearance at all?" I asked. "Mr.

Delora may have met some friends. He is not obliged to come here. In other words, if he chooses to disappear, he surely has a perfect right to! Are you acting upon Miss Delora's instructions?"

"No!" the inspector answered. "Miss Delora has not moved in the matter."

"Then I consider," I declared, "that your action is premature, and I have nothing to say."

The inspector was temporarily nonplussed. My view of the situation was perfectly reasonable, and my a.s.sumption that there was some other reason for their visit was not without truth. The man in the plain clothes, who had been listening intently but as yet had not spoken, intervened.

"Captain Rotherby," he said, "I am a detective from Scotland Yard,--in fact I am the head of one of the departments. We know you quite well to be a young gentleman of family, and above suspicion. We feel sure, therefore, that we can rely upon you to help us in any course we may take which is likely to lead to the detection of crime or criminals."

"Up to a certain point," I a.s.sented, "you are perfectly right."

"There are circ.u.mstances connected with these people the Deloras, uncle and niece," the detective continued, "which require investigation."

"I am sorry," I answered, "but I cannot at present answer any more questions, except with Miss Delora's permission."

"You can tell me this, Captain Rotherby," the detective asked, looking at me keenly, "do you know whether Miss Delora has been in communication with her uncle since she reached the hotel?"

"I have no idea," I answered.

"There is a telephone in her room," the detective continued, without removing his eyes from my face. "We understand from the hall-porter that a message was received by her soon after her arrival."