identity? Maitland, entirely forgetting that he had
artfully entered his name as "Buchanan" on the hotel book, produced his
card, on the lower corner of which was printed, _St. Gatien's College._
This address puzzled the detective a good deal, while the change of name
did not allay his suspicions, and he ended by requesting Maitland to
accompany him into the presence of Justice. As there was no choice,
Maitland obtained leave to put some linen in his travelling-bag, and was
carried off to what we should call the nearest police-station. Here
he was received in a chill bleak room by a formal man, wearing a
decoration, who (after some private talk with the detective) asked
Maitland to explain his whole conduct in the matter of the coat. In
the first place, the detective's notes on their conversation were
read aloud, and it was shown that Maitland had given a false name; had
originally spoken of the object of his quest as "the coat of a friend;"
then as "the coat of a man whom he knew something about;" then as "the
coat of a man whose name he did not know;" and that, finally, he had
attempted to go away without offering any satisfactory account of
himself.

All this the philanthropist was constrained to admit; but he was, not
unnaturally, quite unable to submit any explanation of his proceedings.
What chiefly discomfited him was the fact that his proceedings were a
matter of interest and observation. Why, he kept wondering, was all this
fuss made about a coat which had, or had not, been left by a traveller
at the hotel? It was perfectly plain that the hotel was used as a
_souriciere_, as the police say, as a trap in which all inquirers after
the coat could be captured. Now, if he had been given time (and a French
dictionary), Maitland might have set before the Commissaire of Police
the whole story of his troubles. He might have begun with the discovery
of Shields' body in the snow; he might have gone on to Margaret's
disappearance (_enlevement_), and to a description of the costume
(bearskin coat and all) of the villain who had carried her away. Then
he might have described his relations with Margaret, the necessity of
finding her, the clew offered by the advertisement in the _Times_, and
his own too subtle and ingenious attempt to follow up that clew. But
it is improbable that this narrative, had Maitland told it ever
so movingly, would have entirely satisfied the suspicions of the
Commissaire of Police. It might even hav