get a hansom to come on here. It had been arranged that I should bring
his niece and follow him. When we arrived he had not come. He has not
been here since. I have just left his niece, and she assured me that
she had no idea where he was."

Louis stood quite still.

"It is a most singular occurrence," he said.

"It is the strangest thing I have ever heard of in my life," I
answered.

"Monsieur is very much interested, doubtless," Louis said
thoughtfully. "He travelled with them,--he expressed, I believe, an
admiration for the young lady. Doubtless he is very much interested."

"So much so, Louis," I answered, "that I intend to do everything I can
to solve the mystery of Delora's disappearance. I am an idle man, and
it will amuse me."

Louis shook his head.

"Ah!" he said, "it is not always safe to meddle in the affairs of
other people! There are wheels within wheels. The disappearance of
Mr. Delora may not be altogether so accidental as it seems."

"You mean--" I exclaimed hastily.

"But nothing, monsieur," Louis answered, with a little shrug of the
shoulders. "I spoke quite generally. A man disappears, and every one
in the world immediately talks of foul play, of murder,--of many such
things. But, after all, is that quite reasonable? Most often the man
who disappears, disappears of his own accord,--disappears either from
fear of things that may happen to him, or because he himself has some
purpose to serve."

"You mean to suggest, then, Louis," I said, "that the disappearance of
Mr. Delora is a voluntary one?"

Once more Louis shrugged his shoulders.

"Who can tell, monsieur?" he answered. "I suggest nothing. I spoke
only as one might speak, hearing of this case. One moment, monsieur."

He darted away to welcome some newcomers, ushered them to their
table, suggested their lunch, passed up and down the room, stopping
here and there to bow to a patron, to examine the dishes standing
ready to be served, to correct some fault of service. It seemed to me,
as I watched him, that he did a hundred things before he returned. Yet
in a very few moments he was standing once more before my table,
examining with a complacent air the service of my luncheon.

"Monsieur will find the _petits carots_ excellent," he
declared. "My friend Henry, he tries to serve this dish, but it is not
the same thing; no! Always the vegetables must be served in the
country where they are grown. Monsieur will drink something?"

"A pin