MISS SINCLAIR'S OFFER
Miss Rowan had left two hours ago, and had taken all her luggage and paid her bill. Apparently she had no idea of returning,—at any rate, she had not reserved any rooms. The hall-porter of the little hotel looked at Deane with some curiosity as he answered his rapid questions. The manageress came rustling out of her office and beamed on Deane, who had once stayed there for several weeks. She confirmed the information which he had already received, and supplemented it with a few further details.
"Miss Rowan paid her bill?" Deane asked.
"Certainly, sir," the manageress answered. "Miss Rowan was exceedingly particular about paying her accounts the moment they were presented."
"And she left no message?" Deane asked.
"None at all, sir," was the answer.
He noticed the gleam of curiosity in her eyes, and promptly altered his tactics. "Thank you very much," he said, turning away. "I quite understood that Miss Rowan was not leaving until this afternoon. My mistake, I daresay. By the bye, have you any instructions with regard to letters?"
"None," the manageress replied. "If any come, we shall keep them until we hear from her."
Deane turned away and reëntered his brougham. "I shall find a note at my rooms, I daresay," he remarked. "Good morning, Mrs. Merrygold."
His words were prophetic. He called at his rooms on his way to the club for lunch, and found a note there addressed to him in Winifred's handwriting: