"Why—no," she hesitated. "But I think we'd better go into the house, after such a thing as this. It makes me feel nervous."
With Del Mar I followed Elaine in through the conservatory.
. . . . . . .
Del Mar had scarcely registered at the La Coste when the smaller car which had been waiting at the fisherman's hut drew up before the hotel entrance. From it alighted the fussy old gentleman who bore such a remarkable resemblance to the fisherman, hastily paid his driver and entered the hotel.
He went directly to the desk and with well-manicured finger, scarcely reminiscent of a fisherman, began tracing the names down the list until he stopped before one which read:
Marcius Del Mar and valet. Washington, D. C. Room 520.
With a quick glance about, he made a note of it, and turned away, leaving the La Coste to take up quarters of his own in the Prince Henry down the street.
Not until Del Mar had left with his two policemen did the fussy old gentleman reappear in the La Coste. Then he rode up to Del Mar's room and rapped at the door.
"Is Mr. Del Mar in?" he inquired of the valet.
"No, sir," replied that functionary.