ne. However, that's your business."

Mme. Doulenques cast a mechanical glance through the window that looked
on to the street, and then surveyed the stranger from top to toe; he
seemed to be much too well dressed to be a mere porter.

"But you haven't got any handcart or truck," she exclaimed. "You're not
thinking of carrying the trunks on your shoulder, are you? Why, there
are at least three or four of them--and heavy!"

The stranger paused before answering, as though he found it necessary to
weigh each word.

"As a matter of fact I merely wanted to get an idea of the size of the
luggage," he said quietly. "Will you show me the things?"

"If I must, I must," said the concierge with a heavy sigh. "Come up with
me: it's the fifth floor," and as she climbed the stairs she grumbled:
"It's a pity you didn't come when I was doing my work: I shouldn't have
had to climb a hundred stairs a second time then; it counts up at the
end of the day, and I'm not so young as I was."

The stranger followed her up the stairs, murmuring monosyllabic
sympathy, and regulating his pace by hers. Arrived at the fifth floor,
the concierge drew a key from her pocket and opened the door of the
flat.

It was a small modest place, but quite prettily decorated. The door on
the landing opened into a tiny sort of anteroom, from which one passed
into a front room furnished with little but a round table and a few
arm-chairs. Beyond this was a bedroom, almost filled by the large bed,
which was the first thing one saw on entering, and on the right there
was yet another room, probably a little office. Both the first room,
which was a kind of general living room, and the bedroom had wide
windows overlooking gardens as far as one could see. An advantage of the
flat was that it had nothing opposite, so that the occupant could move
about with the windows open if he liked, and yet have nothing to fear
from the inquisitiveness of neighbours.

The rooms had been shut up for several days, since the tenant had gone
away indeed, and there was a stuffy smell about them, mingled with a
strong smell of chemicals.

"I must air the place," the concierge muttered, "or else M. Gurn won't
be pleased when he comes back. He always says he is too hot and can't
breathe in Paris."

"So he does not live here regularly?" said the stranger, scanning the
place curiously as he spoke.

"Oh, no, sir," the concierge answered. "M. Gurn is a kind of commercial
traveller and i