III. MISS VAN HOYT

I was awakened at about nine o’clock the next morning by a loud and persistent knocking at the door of my room. I sat up in bed and shouted,

“Come in!”

A waiter entered bearing a note, which he handed to me on a salver. I looked at him, around the room, which was still in some confusion, and down at the note, which was clearly addressed to me, J. Hardross Courage, Esq. Suddenly my eyes fell upon the smashed door, and I remembered at once the events of the previous night. I tore open the note. It was typewritten and brief:–

“The manager presents his compliments to Mr. Hardross Courage, and would be obliged if he will arrange to vacate his room by midday. The manager further regrets that he is unable to offer Mr. Courage any other accommodation.”

“Tell the valet to let me have a bath in five minutes,” I ordered, springing out of bed, “and bring me some tea. Look sharp!”

I was in a furious temper. The events of the night before, strange though they had been, left me comparatively unmoved. I was filled, however, with a thoroughly British indignation at the nature of this note. My room had been broken into in the middle of the night; I had narrowly escaped being myself the victim of a serious and murderous assault; and now I was calmly told to leave the hotel! I hastened downstairs and into the office.

“I wish to see the manager as soon as possible,” I said to one of the reception clerks behind the counter.

“Certainly, sir, what name?” he asked; drawing a slip of paper towards him.

“Courage–“ I told him, “Mr. Hardross Courage!”

The man’s manner underwent a distinct change.

“I am sorry, sir,” he said, “but Mr. Blumentein is engaged. Is there anything I can do?”

“No!” I answered him bluntly. “I want the manager, and no one else will do. If he cannot see me now I will wait. If he does not appear in a reasonable time, I shall go direct to Scotland Yard and lay certain information before the authorities there.”

The clerk stared at me, and then smiled in a tolerant manner. He was short and dark, and wore glasses. His manner was pleasant enough, but he had the air of endeavoring to soothe a fractious child–which annoyed me.

“I will send a message down to Mr. Blumentein, sir,” he said, “but he is very busy this morning.”

He called a boy, but, after a moment’s hesitation, he left the office himself. I lit a cigarette, and waited with as much patience as I could command. The people who passed in and out interested me very little. Suddenly, however, I gave a start and looked up quickly.

A woman had entered the reception-room, passing so close to me that her skirts almost brushed my feet. She was tall, quietly and elegantly dressed, and she was followed by a most correct looking maid, who carried a tiny Japanese spaniel. I did not see her face, although I knew by her carriage and figure that she must be