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"You do not know!" she murmured.




CHAPTER XI

THROUGH THE TELEPHONE


There was no doubt about it that Delora had disappeared. I followed
the reception clerk downstairs myself within the space of a few
minutes, and made the most careful inquiries in every part of the
hotel. It did not take me very long to ascertain, beyond the shadow of
a doubt, that he was not upon the premises, nor had he yet been seen
by any one connected with the place. I even walked to the corner of
the courtyard and looked aimlessly up and down the Strand. Within
those few hundred yards which lay between where I was standing and
Charing Cross something had happened which had prevented his reaching
the hotel. It may have been the slightest of accidents. It might be
something more serious. Or it might even be, I was forced to reflect,
that he had never intended coming! Presently I returned to the suite
of rooms upon the fifth floor to make my report to Miss Delora. I
found her calmer than I had expected, but her face fell when I was
forced to confess that I had heard no news.

"I am sorry," I said, "but there is no doubt that up to the present,
at any rate, your uncle has not been here. I am quite sure, though," I
added, "that there is no cause for alarm. A hundred slight accidents
might have happened to detain him for half an hour or so."

She glanced at the clock.

"It is more than that," she said softly.

"Tell me," I asked, "would you like me to communicate with the police?
They are in touch with the hospitals, and if any misfortune has
happened to your uncle--which, after all, is scarcely likely--we
should hear of it directly."

She shook her head vigorously. The idea, for some reason, seemed to
displease her.

"No!" she said. "Why should we appeal to the police? What have they to
do with my uncle? I am quite sure that he would not wish that."

"I presume," I said, "that nothing of this sort has ever happened
before?--I mean that he has not left you without warning?"

"Not under the same circumstances," she admitted. "And yet, he has a
very queer way of absenting himself every now and then."

"For long?" I asked.

"It depends," she answered. "Never for any length of time, though."

"After all," I remarked, "you cannot have seen such a great deal of
him. He lives in South America, does he not, and you have never been
out of France?"

"It is true," she murmured.

"I noticed," I continued thoughtfully, "that he seemed disturbed as we
neared London."

She drew out the pins from her hat, and with a little gesture of
relief threw it upon the table.

"Please sit down for a minute," she said. "I want to think."

She leaned forward upon the couch, her head buried in her hands. I
felt that she desired silence, so I said nothing. Several moments
passed, then there came a sudden and unexpected interruption. The bell
of the telephone instrument, which stood between us upon the table,
commenced to ring. Her hands fell from before her face. She looked
across at me with parted lips and wide-open eyes. I made a movement
towards the instrument, but she checked me.

"Stop!" she said. "Wait a moment! Let me think!"

She had risen to her feet. We stood looking at one another across the
table. Between us was the telephone instrument and the bell which had
just rung out its summons.

"Are you not going to answer it?" I asked.

"I am afraid!" she answered. "I do not know what has come over me. I
am afraid! Take up the receiver. Tell me who it is who speaks."

"You are sure that you wish it?" I asked.

"At once!" she insisted. "They will have gone away."

The bell rang again. I took the receiver into my hands.

"Who is there?" I asked.

"Is that the apartment of Mr. Delora?" was the reply.

"Yes!" I said.

"I wish to speak to Miss Felicia Delora," the voice said.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"It does not matter," was the answer. "Be so good as to tell her to
come to the telephone--Miss Felicia Delora."

I held the receiver away from me and turned to her.

"Some one wishes to speak to you," I said.

"Who is it?" she asked.

"The person gave no name," I answered.

"Did you recognize the voice?" she asked.

I hesitated.

"I was not sure," I said. "It was like your uncle's."

She took the instrument into her hand. What passed between her and the
person at the other end I had, of course, no means of telling. All I
know was that she said, at short intervals,--"Yes! No! Yes! I
promise!" Then she laid the instrument down and looked at me.

"The mystery is solved," she said. "My uncle has met some friends, and
stayed with them for a little time to discuss a matter of business. I
am sorry to have been so troublesome to you. My anxieties, of course,
are at an end now."

I bowed, and moved toward the door.

"If there is anything else that I can do--" I said.

"I shall ask you," she answered, looking at me earnestly. "I shall,
indeed."

"My number is 128," I said. "I am two floors above you. Please do not
forget to make use of me if you need a friend."

"I shall not forget," she answered softly.

Then, as though moved by a sudden impulse, she held out her hand,--a
small white hand with rather long fingers, manicured to a perfection
unusual in this country. She wore only one ring, in which was set a
magnificent uncut emerald. I held her fingers for a moment, and raised
them to my lips.

"I shall be always at your service," I answered quietly, "however
much--or however little you may care to tell me. Goodnight!"

I went to my rooms and washed. Afterwards I descended and ordered some
supper in the cafe.

"Louis is not back yet?" I remarked to the waiter who attended to me.

"Not yet, monsieur," the man answered. "We expect him some time
to-morrow. Monsieur is also from Paris?"

I nodded, and did not pursue the subject. On my way back to my rooms
half an hour later I stopped to speak for a few minutes with the
hall-porter.

"Mr. Delora has not arrived yet, sir," he remarked.

"No!" I answered. "I dare say there has been some slight mistake. I
fancy that he has telephoned to his niece."

The hall-porter looked a little puzzled.

"It is rather a curious thing, sir," he said, "but there seem to be a
good many people who are wanting to see Mr. Delora. We have had at
least a dozen inquiries for him during the last few days, and all from
people who refuse to leave their names."

I nodded.

"Business friends, perhaps," I remarked. "Mr. Delora comes over to
keep friends with his connections here, I suppose."

The hall-porter coughed discreetly but mysteriously.

"No doubt, sir," he remarked.

I went on my way to my rooms, not caring to pursue the conversation.
Yet I felt that there was something beneath it all. Ashley knew or
guessed something which he would have told me with very little
encouragement. Over a final cigarette I tried to think the matter
out. Here were these people, remarkable for nothing except the
obviously foreign appearance of the man, and the good taste and beauty
of the girl. I had seen them at every fashionable haunt in Paris, and
finally at a restaurant which Louis had frankly admitted to be the
meeting-place of people whose careers were by no means above
suspicion. I had crossed with them to England, and if their presence
on the train were not the cause for Louis' insisting upon my hurried
departure from Paris, it at any rate afforded him gratification to
think that I might, perhaps, make their acquaintance. During the whole
of the journey neither of them had made the slightest overture towards
me. That we had come together at all was, without doubt, accidental.
I did not for a moment doubt the girl's first attitude of irritation
towards me. It was just as certain that her uncle had shown no desire
whatever to make my acquaintance. I remembered his curious agitation
as we had reached London, his muttered excuse of sea-sickness, and his
somewhat extraordinary conduct in leaving his niece alone with me--a
perfect stranger--while he hurried off to the hotel at which he had
never arrived. Presumably, if that was indeed he who had spoken to
the girl upon the telephone, she understood more about the matter than
I did. He may have given her some explanation which accounted for his
absence. If so, he had obviously desired it to remain a secret. What
was the nature of this mystery? Of what was it that he was afraid? Who
was this young man who, after his departure, had taken so much
interest in his niece and myself at Charing Cross? Was it some one
whom he had desired to evade?--a detective, perhaps, or an informer?
The riddle was not easy to solve. Common-sense told me that my wisest
course was to fulfil my original intention, and take the first train
on the morrow to my brother's house in Norfolk. On the other hand,
inclination strongly prompted me to stay where I was, to see this
thing through, to see more of Felicia Delora! I was thirty years old,
free and unencumbered, a moderately impressionable bachelor of
moderate means. Until the time when the shadow of this tragedy had
come into my life, which had found its culmination in the little
restaurant of the Place d'Anjou, things had moved smoothly enough with
me. I had had the average number of flirtations, many pleasant
friendships. Yet I asked myself now whether there was any one in the
past who had ever moved me in the same way as this girl, who was still
almost a perfect stranger to me. I hated the man, her uncle. I hated
the circumstances under which I had seen her. I hated the mystery by
which they were surrounded. It was absolutely maddening for me to
reflect that two floors below she was spending the night either with
some mysterious and secret knowledge, or in real distress as to her
uncle's fate. After all, I told myself a little bitterly, I was a
fool! I was old enough to know better! The man himself was an
adventurer,--there could be no doubt about it. How was it possible
that she could be altogether ignorant of his character?

Then, just as I was half undressed, there came a soft knock at my
door. I rose to my feet and stood for a moment undecided. For some
time my own personal danger seemed to have slipped out of my memory.
Now it came back with a sudden terrible rush. Perhaps the man Tapilow
was dead! If so, this was the end!

I went out into the little hall and opened the door. The corridors
outside were dimly lit, but there was no mistaking the two men who
stood there waiting for me. One was obviously a police inspector, and
the man by his side, although he wore plain clothes, could scarcely be
anything but a detective.




CHAPTER XII

FELICIA DELORA


I looked at the two men, and they returned my gaze with interest.

"Are you Captain Rotherby, sir?" the inspector asked.

I nodded.

"That is my name," I said.

"We shall be glad to have a few words with you, sir," he declared.

"You had better come inside," I answered, and led the way into my
sitting-room.

"We have been sent for," the inspector continued, "to inquire into the
disappearance of Mr. Delora,--the gentleman who was expected to have
arrived at this hotel this evening," he added, referring to his notes.

To me, who with a natural egotism had been thinking of my own affairs,
and had been expecting nothing less than arrest, this declaration of
the object of their visit had its consolations.

"We understand," the inspector continued, "that you travelled with
Mr. Delora and his niece from Folkestone to Charing Cross."

"That is quite true," I answered. "The guard put them in my carriage."

"Did you converse with them during the journey, sir?"

"The man was asleep all the way," I answered. "He never even opened
his eyes till we were practically in London."

"You talked, perhaps, with the young lady?" the man inquired.

"If I did," I answered serenely, "it seems to me that it was my
business."

The police inspector was imperturbable.

"When was the last time you saw this Mr. Delora?" he asked.

"At Charing Cross Station," I answered. "He left the carriage directly
the train stopped and went to get a hansom. He had been sea-sick
coming over, and was anxious to get to the hotel very quickly."

"Leaving his niece alone?" the man asked.

"Leaving her in my care," I answered. "We were all coming to the same
hotel, and the young lady and I had been in conversation for some
time."

"He asked you, then, to take care of her?" the man inquired.

"The request as he made it," I answered, "was a perfectly natural
one. By the bye," I continued, "who sent for you?"

"We were advised of Mr. Delora's disappearance by the proprietor of
the hotel," the inspector answered.

"How do you know that it is a disappearance at all?" I asked. "Mr.
Delora may have met some friends. He is not obliged to come here. In
other words, if he chooses to disappear, he surely has a perfect right
to! Are you acting upon Miss Delora's instructions?"

"No!" the inspector answered. "Miss Delora has not moved in the
matter."

"Then I consider," I declared, "that your action is premature, and I
have nothing to say."

The inspector was temporarily nonplussed. My view of the situation was
perfectly reasonable, and my assumption that there was some other
reason for their visit was not without truth. The man in the plain
clothes, who had been listening intently but as yet had not spoken,
intervened.

"Captain Rotherby," he said, "I am a detective from Scotland Yard,--in
fact I am the head of one of the departments. We know you quite well
to be a young gentleman of family, and above suspicion. We feel sure,
therefore, that we can rely upon you to help us in any course we may
take which is likely to lead to the detection of crime or criminals."

"Up to a certain point," I assented, "you are perfectly right."

"There are circumstances connected with these people the Deloras,
uncle and niece," the detective continued, "which require
investigation."

"I am sorry," I answered, "but I cannot at present answer any more
questions, except with Miss Delora's permission."

"You can tell me this, Captain Rotherby," the detective asked, looking
at me keenly, "do you know whether Miss Delora has been in
communication with her uncle since she reached the hotel?"

"I have no idea," I answered.

"There is a telephone in her room," the detective continued, without
removing his eyes from my face. "We understand from the hall-porter
that a message was received by her soon after her arrival."

"Very likely," I answered. "I should suggest that you go and interview
Miss Delora. She will probably tell you all about it."

They were both silent. I felt quite certain that they had already done
so. At that moment my own telephone bell rang. The two men exchanged
quick glances. I took up the receiver.

"Is that Capitaine Rotherby?"

I recognized the voice at once. It was Miss Delora speaking.

"Yes!" I answered.

"I thought I should like to let you know," she continued, "that I am
no longer in the least anxious about my uncle. He is always doing
eccentric things, and I am sure that he will turn up,--later to-night,
perhaps, or at any rate to-morrow. I do not wish any inquiries made
about him. It would only annoy him very much when he came to hear of
it."

"I am very glad to hear you say so, Miss Delora," I answered. "To tell
you the truth, there are some men here at present who are asking me
questions. I have told them, however, that you are the only person to
whom they should apply."

Her voice, when she answered me, showed some signs of agitation.

"I have not asked the help of the police," she declared, "and I do not
need it! They would have come to my rooms, but I refused to receive
them."

"I quite agree with you, Miss Delora," I answered. "Good night!"

"Good night, Capitaine Rotherby!" she said softly. I laid down the
receiver.

"You have probably overheard my conversation," I said to the
inspector. "After that, I can only wish you good night!"

He moved at once to the door in stolid, discontented fashion. The
detective, however, lingered.

"Captain Rotherby," he said, "I cannot blame you for your decision. I
think, however, it is only fair to warn you that you will probably
find yourself better off in the long run if you do not mix yourself up
in this affair."

"Indeed!" I answered.

"There are wheels within wheels," the man continued. "I have no charge
to make against Mr. Delora. I have no charge to make against any
one. But I think that so far as you are concerned, you would be well
advised to remember that these are merely travelling companions, and
that even the most accomplished man of the world is often deceived in
such. Good night, sir!"

They left me then without another word. I heard their footsteps die
away along the corridor, the ring of the lift bell, the clatter of its
ascent and descent. Then I undressed and went to bed.

I awoke the next morning rather late, dressed and shaved in my rooms,
and descended to the cafe for breakfast. The waiter who usually
served me came hurrying up with a welcoming smile.

"Monsieur Louis," he announced, "returned early this morning."

"He is not here now?" I asked, looking around the room.

The waiter smiled deprecatingly.

"But for the early breakfast, no, sir!" he said. "Monsieur Louis will
come at one o'clock, perhaps,--perhaps not until dinner-time. He will
be here to-day, though."

I unfolded my paper and looked through the list of accidents. There
was nothing which could possibly have applied to Mr. Delora. I waited
until eleven o'clock, and then sent up my name to Miss Delora. A
reply came back almost at once,--Miss Delora had gone out an hour ago,
and had left no word as to the time of her return. Once more I was
puzzled. Why should she go out unless she had received some news? She
had told me that she had no friends in London. It was scarcely likely
that she would go out on any casual expedition in her present state of
uncertainty. I made my way to the manager's office, whom I knew very
well, and with whom I had often had a few minutes' talk. He received
me with his usual courtesy, and gave me a handful of cigarettes to
try. I lit one, and seated myself in his easy-chair.

"Mr. Helmsley," I said, "you know that I am not, as a rule, a curious
person, and I should not like to ask you any questions which you
thought improper ones, but you have some guests staying here in whom I
am somewhat interested."

Mr. Helmsley nodded, and by his genial silence invited me to proceed.

"I mean Mr. Delora and his niece," I continued.

The smile faded from the manager's face.

"The gentleman who did not arrive last night?" he remarked.

I nodded.

"I travelled up with them," I said, "from Folkestone, and certainly
Mr. Delora's behavior was a little peculiar as we neared London. He
seemed nervous, and anxious to quit the train at the earliest possible
moment. I brought his niece on here, as you know, found that he had
not arrived, and I understand that, up to the present, nothing has
been heard of him."

"It is quite true," Mr. Helmsley admitted thoughtfully. "The matter
was reported to me last night, and very soon afterwards an inspector
from Scotland Yard called. I gave him all the information I could,
naturally, but on reference to the young lady she declined to consider
the matter seriously at all. Her uncle, she said, had probably met
some friends, or had made a call upon the way. Under the
circumstances, there was nothing else to do but to drop the matter, so
far as any direct inquiries were concerned."

I nodded.

"But the man himself?" I asked. "What do you know of him?"

"I have always understood," Mr. Helmsley said slowly, "that he was a
gentleman from South America who had large coffee plantations, and who
came over every year to sell his produce. He has stayed at the hotel
about this time for the last four years. He has always engaged a good
suite of rooms, has paid his accounts promptly,--I really do not know
anything more about him."

"Has his niece accompanied him always?" I asked.

"Never before," Mr. Helmsley answered,--"at least, not to my
recollection."

"You do not know what part of South America he comes from?" I asked.

"I have no idea," Mr. Helmsley declared. "His letters are always
forwarded to an agent."

"So practically you can tell me nothing," I said, rising.

"Nothing at all, I fear," Mr. Helmsley answered. "I shall make it a
point of calling upon the young lady within an hour or so, to inquire
again about her uncle."

"The young lady has gone out," I remarked. "I have just sent my own
name up."

Mr. Helmsley raised his eyebrows. He, too, was surprised.

"Then she has probably heard something," he remarked.

"Perhaps," I answered. "By the bye, I understand that Louis is back."

"He came by the night train," Mr. Helmsley answered. "I scarcely
expected him so soon. You will probably see him in the cafe at
luncheon-time."

I took my leave of the manager and returned to my own side of the
hotel.

"If Miss Delora should come in," I said to the hall-porter on my way
to the lift, "please let me know. I shall be in my room, writing
letters."

"Miss Delora came in just after you crossed the courtyard, sir," the
man answered. "She is in her room now."

"Alone?" I asked.

"I believe that she came in with a gentleman, sir. Shall I ring up and
ask for her?"

I hesitated for a moment. I was recalling to myself her statement that
she had no friends in London whatsoever.

"Yes!" I answered. "Send up my name, and say that I should like to see
her."

The man went to the telephone, and emerged from the box a moment
later.

"Miss Delora would be much obliged," he said, "if you would kindly go
to her room in a quarter of an hour."

I nodded, and turned away for the lift. The cigarette between my lips
was suddenly tasteless. I was experiencing a new sensation, and
distinctly an unpleasant one. With it was coupled an intense
curiosity to know the identity of the man who was even now with
Felicia!




CHAPTER XIII

LOUIS, MAITRE D'HOTEL


I measured out that quarter of an hour into minutes, and almost into
seconds. Then I knocked at the door of the sitting-room, and was
bidden enter by Felicia Delora herself. She was alone, but she was
dressed for the street, and was apparently just leaving the hotel
again. Her clothes were of fashionable make, and cut with the most
delightful simplicity. Her toilette was that of the ideal Frenchwoman
who goes out for a morning's shopping, and may possibly lunch in the
Bois. She was still very pale, however, and the dark lines under her
eyes seemed to speak of a sleepless night. I fancied that she welcomed
me a little shyly. She dropped her veil almost at once, and she did
not ask me to sit down.

"I hope that you have some news this morning of your uncle, Miss
Delora?" I asked.

She shook her head.

"I have not heard--anything of importance," she answered.

"I am sorry," I said. "I am afraid that you must be getting very
anxious."

She bent over the button of her glove.

"Yes," she admitted. "I am very anxious! I am very anxious indeed. I
scarcely know what to do."

"Tell me, then," I said, "why do you not let me go with you to the
police and have some inquiries made? If you prefer it, we could go to
a private detective. I really think that something ought to be done."

She shook her head.

"I dare not," she said simply.

"Dare not?" I repeated.

"Because when he returns," she explained, "he would be so very, very
angry with me. He is a very eccentric man--my uncle. He does strange
things, and he allows no one to question his actions."

"But he has no right," I declared hotly, "to leave you like this in a
strange hotel, without even a maid, without a word of farewell or
explanation. The thing is preposterous!"

She had finished buttoning her gloves, and looked up at me with a
queer little smile at the corner of her lips and her hands behind her.

"Capitaine Rotherby," she said, "there are so many things which it
seems hard to understand. I myself am very unhappy and perplexed, but
I do know what my uncle would wish me to do. He would wish me to
remain quite quiet, and to wait."

I was silent for a few moments. It was difficult to reason with her.

"You have been out this morning," I said, a little abruptly.

"I have been out," she admitted. "I do not think, Capitaine Rotherby,
that I must tell you where I have been, but I went to the one place
where I thought that I might have news of him."

"You brought back with you a companion."

"No, not a companion," she interposed gently. "You must not think
that, Capitaine Rotherby. He was just a person who--who had to come.
You are not cross with me," she asked, lifting her eyes a little
timidly to mine, "that there are some things which I do not tell you?"

"No, I am not cross!" I answered slowly. "Only, if you felt it
possible," I added, "to give me your entire confidence, it seems to me
that it would be better. I will ask you to believe," I continued,
"that I am not merely a curious person. I am--well, more than a little
interested."

She held out both her hands and raised her eyes to mine. Through the
filmy lace of her veil I could see that they were very soft, almost as
though tears were gathering there.