sed the
gate, touched the handle and the lift commenced to ascend.

"What's the matter with you all here?" Hunterleys demanded, irritably.
"Is there anything wrong with my appearance? Has anything happened?"

The man made a gesture but said absolutely nothing. The lift had
stopped. He pushed open the door.

"Monsieur's floor," he faltered.

Hunterleys stepped out and made his way towards his room. Arrived there,
he was brought to a sudden standstill. A gendarme was stationed outside.

"What the mischief are you doing here?" Hunterleys demanded.

The man saluted.

"By orders of the Director of Police, monsieur."

"But that is my room," Hunterleys protested. "I wish to enter."

"No one is permitted to enter, monsieur," the man replied.

Hunterleys stared blankly at the gendarme.

"Can't you tell me at least what has happened?" he persisted. "I am Sir
Henry Hunterleys. That is my apartment. Why do I find it locked against
me?"

"By order of the Director of the Police, monsieur," was the parrot-like
reply.

Hunterleys turned away impatiently. At that moment the reception clerk
who downstairs had fled at his approach, returned, bringing with him the
manager of the hotel. Hunterleys welcomed the latter with an air of
relief.

"Monsieur Picard," he exclaimed, "what on earth is the meaning of this?
Why do I find my room closed and this gendarme outside?"

Monsieur Picard was a tall man, black-bearded, immaculate in appearance
and deportment, with manners and voice of velvet. Yet he, too, had lost
his wonderful imperturbability. He waved away the floor waiter, who had
drawn near. His manner was almost agitated.

"Monsieur Sir Henry," he explained, "an affair the most regrettable has
happened in your room. I have allotted to you another apartment upon the
same floor. Your things have been removed there. If you will come with
me I will show it to you. It is an apartment better by far than the one
you have been occupying, and the price is the same."

"But what on earth has happened in my room?" Hunterleys demanded.

"Monsieur," the hotel manager replied, "some poor demented creature who
has doubtless lost his all, in your absence found his way there and
committed suicide."

"Found his way into my room?" Hunterleys repeated. "But I locked the
door before I went out. I have the key in my pocket."

"He entered possibly through the bathroom," the manager went on,
soothingly. "I am deeply grieved that monsieur s