ngland to-day. Ask the _chef-de-reception_ of
any of our smartest hotels, and they will reel off the names of half a
dozen or so elderly bachelors, widowers or wife-quarrelers with huge
incomes who prefer to pass along the line of least resistance in
domesticity--the private suite in an up-to-date hotel.

Mr. Gordon Lloyd was one of such, and it seemed that Rudolph Rayne,
who now treated me with the greatest intimacy because he saw that he
had drawn me so completely into his net, had become his dearest
friend.

On the night when the last guest had departed I sat with the pair over
the port, after Lola and Madame had left the dinner-table.

"Really," said the merry old gentleman with his glass of '74 poised in
his hand, "I don't know whether I shall go back to Colwyn Bay again
this winter--or go abroad. I've no ties, and I'm getting fed up. I
haven't been abroad since the war."

"Go abroad, my dear fellow," said Rayne. "The change would certainly
do you good--go somewhere in the south. The Riviera is played out. Why
not go to Sicily?"

"I've been there," replied old Mr. Lloyd as he sipped his glass of
fine wine.

"Then why not try Italy? Glorious bright weather all through our foggy
season--Rome or Florence, for instance?"

"No, I hate Italy."

"Spain, then? Good hotels in Madrid and Barcelona. In Madrid there is
a small circle of English society, good opera, and lots of interesting
places to visit by motor," Rayne suggested, for, as a rapid traveler
all over Europe, he knew every Continental city of importance.

The old man was rather struck by the latter suggestion.

"I certainly am rather tired of Bournemouth and Colwyn Bay and Hove in
winter," he admitted. "I've never been to Madrid."

"Then go, my dear fellow. Go by all means. The journey is quite easy.
Just the train by day to Paris, and then by sleeping-car on the Sud
Express right through to Madrid."

"Yes. But it's an awful trouble," replied the rich old man.

"No trouble at all!" laughed Rayne as he pulled at his cigar. "I don't
like to see you in this rut of hotels. It's bad for you! It only leads
to drinks in the bar till late and bad headaches in the morning. You
must buck up and get out of it."

"Well, I'll see," replied the old fellow, and then we all three rose
and rejoined the ladies.

Oh, what a farce the whole thing was! I longed--I yearned to yell my
disclosures against the man who like an octopus had now placed his
tentacles aroun