inald Dimmock had probably been a traitor to his
family--a traitor whose repentance had caused his death--had not
been thoroughly discussed; the talk had tended rather to Continental
politics, with a view to discovering what princely family might have
an interest in the temporary disappearance of Prince Eugen. Now, as
Racksole considered in detail the particular affair of Reginald Dimmock,
deceased, he was struck by one point especially, to wit: Why had Dimmock
and Jules manoeuvred to turn Nella Racksole out of Room No. 111 on that
first night? That they had so manoeuvred, that the broken window-pane
was not a mere accident, Racksole felt perfectly sure. He had felt
perfectly sure all along; but the significance of the facts had not
struck him. It was plain to him now that there must be something of
extraordinary and peculiar importance about Room No. 111. After lunch he
wandered quietly upstairs and looked at Room No. 111; that is to say, he
looked at the outside of it; it happened to be occupied, but the guest
was leaving that evening. The thought crossed his mind that there could
be no object in gazing blankly at the outside of a room; yet he gazed;
then he wandered quickly down again to the next floor, and in passing
along the corridor of that floor he stopped, and with an involuntary
gesture stamped his foot.

'Great Scott!' he said, 'I've got hold of something--No. 111 is exactly
over the State apartments.'

He went to the bureau, and issued instructions that No. 111 was not to
be re-let to anyone until further orders. At the bureau they gave him
Nella's note, which ran thus:

Dearest Papa,--I am going away for a day or two on the trail of a due.

If I'm not back in three days, begin to inquire for me at Ostend. Till
then leave me alone.--Your sagacious daughter, NELL.

These few words, in Nella's large scrawling hand, filled one side of the
paper. At the bottom was a P.T.O. He turned over, and read the sentence,
underlined, 'P.S.--Keep an eye on Rocco.'

'I wonder what the little creature is up to?' he murmured, as he tore
the letter into small fragments, and threw them into the waste-paper
basket.

Then, without any delay, he took the lift down to the basement, with the
object of making a preliminary inspection of Rocco in his lair. He could
scarcely bring himself to believe that this suave and stately gentleman,
this enthusiast of gastronomy, was concerned in the machinations of
Jules and other rascals