or and then back again to the head of
the staircase. The whole of the quiet aristocratic hotel seemed to
have suddenly awakened from its lethargy. Indeed, a hue and cry seemed
to have been started after the man who had until a few moments before
been my guest.

What could this mean? Had it not been for the fact that Guertin--or
Delanne, as he called himself--was a friend of the assassin Reckitt, I
would have believed him to have been an agent of the _surete_.

We heard shouting outside the window at the end of the corridor. It
seemed as though a fierce chase had begun after the fugitive
Englishman, for yet another man, a thin, respectably-dressed mechanic,
had run along and slipped out of the window with ease as though
acquired by long practice.

I, too, ran to the window and looked out. But all I could see in the
night was a bewildering waste of roofs and chimneys extending along
the Rue de Rivoli towards the Louvre. I could only distinguish one of
the pursuers outlined against the sky. Then I returned to where Sylvia
was standing pale and breathless.

Her face was haggard and drawn, and I knew of the great tension her
nerves must be undergoing. Her father was certainly no coward. Fearing
that he could not escape by either the front or back door of the
hotel his mind had been quickly made up, and he had made his exit by
that window, taking his chance to hide and avoid detection on those
many roofs in the vicinity.

The position was, to me, extremely puzzling. I could not well press
Sylvia to tell me the truth concerning her father, for I had noticed
that she always had shielded him, as was natural for a daughter, after
all.

Was he an associate of Reckitt and Forbes, as I had once suspected?
Yet if he were, why should Delanne be his enemy, for he certainly was
Reckitt's intimate friend.

Sylvia was filled with suppressed excitement. She also ran along the
corridor and peered out of the window at the end. Then, apparently
satisfied that her father had avoided meeting Delanne, she returned
and stood again silent, her eyes staring straight before her as though
dreading each second to hear shouts of triumph at the fugitive's
detection.

I saw the manager and remonstrated with him. I was angry that my
privacy should thus be disturbed by outsiders.

"Monsieur told the clerk that he was a friend," he replied politely.
"Therefore he gave permission for him to be shown upstairs. I had no
idea of such a contretemps,