looking I
reached out and took therefrom a crumpled blue envelope--the paper he
had flung away.

Smoothing it out, I found that it was not addressed to him, but to
"Arnold Du Cane, Esq., Travellers' Club, Paris," and had been
re-directed to this hotel.

This surprised me.

I rose, and, crossing to the mail-clerk, asked--

"You gave some letters and a telegram to a rather short gentleman in
grey a few minutes ago. Was that Mr. Du Cane?"

"Yes, sir," was the reply. "He went across yonder into the lounge."

"You know him--eh?"

"Oh yes, sir. He's often been here. Not lately. At one time, however,
he was a frequent visitor."

And so Sylvia's father was living there under the assumed name of
Arnold Du Cane!

For business purposes names are often assumed, of course. But
Pennington's business was such a mysterious one that, even against my
will, I became filled with suspicion.

I resolved to wait and catch him on his return. He had probably only
gone to the telegraph office. Had Sylvia wilfully concealed the fact
that her father travelled under the name of Du Cane, in order that I
should not meet him? Surely there could be no reason why she should
have done so.

Therefore I returned to a chair near the entrance to the
smoking-lounge, and waited in patience.

My vigil was not a long one, for after ten minutes or so he
re-entered, spruce and gay, and cast a quick glance around, as though
in search of somebody.

I rose from my chair, and as I did so saw that he regarded me
strangely, as though half conscious of having met me somewhere before.

Walking straight up to him, I said--

"I believe, sir, that you are Mr. Pennington?"

He looked at me strangely, and I fancied that he started at mention of
the name.

"Well, sir," was his calm reply, "I have not the pleasure of knowing
you." I noted that he neither admitted that he was Pennington, nor did
he deny it.

"We met some little time ago on the Lake of Garda," I said. "I,
unfortunately, did not get the chance of a chat with you then. You
left suddenly. Don't you recollect that I sat alone opposite you in
the restaurant of the Grand at Gardone?"

"Oh yes!" he laughed. "How very foolish of me! Forgive me. I thought I
recognized you, and yet couldn't, for the life of me, recall where we
had met. How are you?" and he put out his hand and shook mine warmly.
"Let's sit down. Have a drink, Mr.--er. I haven't the pleasure of your
name."

"Biddulph," I said. "