CTS

"Monsieur Suzor has not yet returned," was the reply of the smart
reception-clerk when I inquired for the French banker. "But he is
often away for two or three days."

I left the hotel, and taking a taxi to the Euston Road made a thorough
examination of the high shabby house with its smoke-grimed lace
curtains, a place which bore over the fan-light the words "Private
Hotel." In the broad light of day it looked a most dull, uninviting
place; more so even than its neighbours. There are many such hotels in
the vicinity of Euston Station, and this seemed the most wretched of
them all, for the windows had not been cleaned for many months, while
the steps badly wanted scrubbing.

After I had thoroughly examined the place in front, I went round to
the back, where I discovered, to my surprise, that the house had an
exit at the rear through a mews into a drab, dull street which ran
parallel. Then, for the first time, the thought occurred to me that on
the previous day the Frenchman might have entered by the front door
and passed out by the back into the next street!

I waited an hour idling about, and then I went boldly to the door, and
knocked.

A black-haired, slatternly woman in a torn and soiled apron opened the
door slightly.

"We're full up," she snapped before I could speak. "We haven't any
room to let."

"I don't require a room," I replied politely. "I've called to see the
French gentleman you have staying here--Monsieur Suzor."

I thought she started at mention of the name, for she still held the
door ajar as though to prevent me from peering inside.

"We've got no French gent a-staying 'ere," she replied. "You've made a
mistake."

"But I saw him enter here last night."

"You must 'ave been mistaken," the woman said. "'E might 'ave gone
next door. They 'ave a lot of visitors."

"But you are full up--eh?"

"Yes--with our reg'lar residents," she answered promptly. But from her
nervousness of manner I knew she was not telling the truth. I was
positive that Suzor had entered there, but she denied all knowledge of
him. Why?

Without a doubt, while I had waited for him to emerge, he had passed
out by the back way. If so, was it possible that he had seen and
recognized me, and wished to escape unseen?

The house was certainly one of mystery. The woman was palpably
perturbed by my inquiry, and she seemed relieved when I turned away
with feigned disappointment.

"Try next door," she suggested, and d