he said; "and I will
guarantee the honesty of my servants unhesitatingly. Let us ring and
ask for the porter."

The porter was emphatic.

"No one has been here after you since yesterday, sir, when the Italian
gentleman came," he pleaded. "To-day he sent a man for a parcel he left
here, but I know of no one else who has even mentioned your name."

"What is the amount of your loss?" asked the manager, as he began to
assist me to make things straight, and the question gave me
inspiration. I made a hurried search, and I must have shown feeling,
for I was conscious of pallor of face and momentary giddiness.

"You have lost something of great value, then?" he continued, as he
watched. And I replied--

"Yes, but to myself only. Nothing has been taken from the room but
papers, which may be worth ten thousand pounds to me. They are not
worth a penny to anyone else."

"Oh! papers only--that is fortunate; it is, perhaps, a case for your
own private detective."

"Quite so; I shouldn't have troubled you had I made a search before. I
will see to it myself--many thanks."

He withdrew with profuse apologies, but I remained standing, with all
the heart out of me. What, in Heaven's name, did it mean? Who had
interest to rifle my portfolio and take the papers? Who could have
interest? Who but the man I meant to hunt down? And what did he know of
me--what? I asked, repeating the words over again, and so loudly that
those in the neighbouring rooms must have heard them.

Was I watched from the very beginning? Had I to cope, at the very
outset, with a man worth a million, the captain of a band of
cutthroats, who stood at no devil's deed, no foul work, no crime, as
Martin Hall's death clearly proved? My heart ached at the thought; I
felt the sweat dropping off me; I stood without thought of any man; the
one word "watched" singing in my ears like the surging of a great sea.
And I had forgotten Roderick until he burst into my room, a great laugh
on his lips, and a telegram in his hand; but he stood back as he saw
me, and went pale, as I must have been.

"Great Scott!" he said; "what's the matter?--what are you doing? We
leave in ten minutes; why aren't you ready?"

The excuse gurgled in my throat. I stammered out something, and began
to pack as though pursued by Furies. Then I put him off by asking what
his humour was about. He laughed again at the question--

"What do you think?" he said; "Mary's arrived all right."

"Oh, that