he used to save sweets and tid-bits for
them from his trays. Johnnie and the other boy told him of their
dilemma concerning number seventy-three, as they designated Addison,
and he in turn related the incident of the dining-room. The boys told
me about him and where he could be found. He's not a waiter any
longer, but married to one of the hotel chamber-maids, and lives in
Long Bay, running a bus service to the depot for a string of the
cheaper boarding houses. He corroborated the bell-hops' story in every
detail, and even gave me a hazy sort of description of Addison. He was
small and thin and dark; clean shaven, with a face like an actor,
narrow shoulders and a sort of caved-in chest. He walked with a slight
limp, and was a little over-dressed for the exclusive, conservative,
high-society crowd that flock to 'The Breakers.'"

"That's our man, Suraci--that's Paddington, to the life!" Blaine
exclaimed. "I knew it as soon as I compared his signature on this
check with the one in the register, although he has tried to disguise
his hand, as you can see. I'm glad to have it verified, though, by
witnesses on whom we can lay our hands at any time, should it become
necessary. He left the day after his arrival, you say? The morning
after this boy, Johnnie, caught him in front of Mr. Lawton's door?"

"Yes, sir. The bell-hops don't think he came back, either. They don't
remember seeing him again."

"Very well. You've done splendidly, Suraci. I couldn't have conducted
the investigation better myself. Do you need any rest, now?"

"Oh, no, sir! I'm quite ready for another job!" The young operative's
eyes sparkled eagerly as he spoke, and his long, slim, nervous fingers
clasped and unclasped the arms of his chair spasmodically. "What is
it? Something new come up?"

"Only that disappearance, two days ago, of the young lawyer to whom
Miss Lawton is engaged, Ramon Hamilton. I want you to go out on that
at once, and see what you can do. I've got half a dozen of the best
men on it already, but they haven't accomplished anything. I can't
give you a single clue to go upon, except that when he walked out of
this office at eleven o'clock in the morning, he wore a black suit,
black shoes, black tie, a black derby and a gray overcoat with a
mourning band on the sleeve--for Mr. Lawton, of course. Outside the
door there, he vanished as if a trap had opened and dropped him
through into space. No one has seen him; no one knows where he went.