ecipitate them to the regions below. Opening the door of a little box
of a room, out of which the hot air came rushing like a blast from a
furnace fire, the porter placed the lamp upon a dilapidated wash-stand
and the valise upon the floor, and without uttering a word, took himself
off.

With all its progressiveness, it was evident that Geneva was far behind
the age in regard to her hotel accommodations; at least so thought
Manning as he gazed disconsolately around upon his surroundings. The
room was small, close and hot, while the furniture exceeded his powers
of description. The unpainted wash-stand seemed to poise itself uneasily
upon its three remaining legs--the mirror had evidently been the resort
of an army of self-admiring flies, who had left their marks upon its
leaden surface until reflection was impossible--two hard and
uncomfortable-looking chairs--and a bed, every feature of which was a
sonorous protest against being slept upon--completed the provisions
which had been made for his entertainment and comfort. Casting a dismal
look upon his uninviting quarters, but being thoroughly tired, the
detective threw himself upon the couch, which rattled and creaked under
him like old bones, and in a few moments was sound asleep.

How long he might have remained in this somnolent condition if left to
himself, it is impossible to state, for a vigorous alarm upon his door
cut short his slumbers, and startled him from his dreams.

Imagining that the hotel had taken fire, or that the porter had eloped
with the silver ware, he jumped hastily out of bed and opened the door.

"It's late and breakfast is waitin'," was the laconic message delivered
to him by the porter of the night before, as he started away.

With a muttered malediction upon this ruthless destroyer of his rest,
the detective donned his clothing, and, feeling as tired and unrefreshed
as though he had not slept at all, descended to the dining-room. If his
experiences of the previous evening had been distressing, the breakfast
which was set before him was positively heart-rending. A muddy-looking
liquid which they called coffee--strong, soggy biscuits, a beefsteak
that would rival in toughness a piece of baked gutta percha, and
evidently swimming in lard, and potatoes which gave decided tokens of
having been served on more than one previous occasion. With a smothered
groan he attacked the unsavory viands, and by dint of great effort
managed to appease his hun