own and write a note to the old man, asking him to let you have
his address so that you can collect any letters from the Ritz for him
and forward them. He'll think it awfully kind of you. And enclose an
envelope addressed to yourself; it will save him trouble."

This I did, taking paper and envelope from the rack in front of me. I
was about to address the envelope to myself, when he said:

"That's too large, have this one! It will fit in the other envelope,"
and he took from the rack one of a smaller size which I used according
to his suggestion.

"Now," he said, "you go and take the girl out and I'll see that this
letter is delivered--and that you get an answer."

I met Sylvia, and we had quite a jolly tea together. Then, at five
o'clock, I left her at the door of the Ritz, saying that I had sent a
letter to her uncle asking for his address, and that knowing he would
be very busy preparing to leave I would not come in.

On entering the Hotel de la Paix the concierge handed me two letters,
one from old Mr. Lloyd in reply to my note and the other that had been
left for me by Duperre.

"I have already left Madrid," he wrote briefly. "Whatever you hear,
you know nothing, remember. Wait another week and then come home."

I was not long in hearing something, for within a quarter of an hour
Sylvia rang me up asking me to come round at once to the Ritz.

In trepidation I took a taxi there and found old Mr. Lloyd in a state
of unconsciousness, with a doctor at his side, Sylvia having found him
lying on the floor of the sitting-room. The doctor told her that the
old gentleman had apparently been seized by a stroke, but that he was
very slowly recovering.

Sylvia, however, pointed out that his dispatch-box had been broken
open and rifled. What had been taken she had no idea.

Inquiries made of the hotel staff proved that just after his niece had
gone out a boy had arrived with a note requiring an answer, and had
been shown up to Mr. Lloyd's room. The old gentleman wrote the answer,
and the boy left with it. To whom the answer was addressed was not
known.

The only person seen in the corridor afterwards was a guest who
occupied a room close by, a Spaniard named Larroca.

I recollected the name. It was the man I had seen at the Unicorn at
Ripon!

I made discreet inquiries, and discovered that Madame Martoz was
living in the hotel.

The truth was plain. I longed to denounce them, but in fear I held my
secret.

Ol