The smile faded from the manager's face.
"The gentleman who did not arrive last night?" he remarked.
I nodded.
"I travelled up with them," I said, "from Folkestone, and certainly Mr. Delora's behavior was a little peculiar as we neared London. He seemed nervous, and anxious to quit the train at the earliest possible moment. I brought his niece on here, as you know, found that he had not arrived, and I understand that, up to the present, nothing has been heard of him."
"It is quite true," Mr. Helmsley admitted thoughtfully. "The matter was reported to me last night, and very soon afterwards an inspector from Scotland Yard called. I gave him all the information I could, naturally, but on reference to the young lady she declined to consider the matter seriously at all. Her uncle, she said, had probably met some friends, or had made a call upon the way. Under the circumstances, there was nothing else to do but to drop the matter, so far as any direct inquiries were concerned."
I nodded.
"But the man himself?" I asked. "What do you know of him?"
"I have always understood," Mr. Helmsley said slowly, "that he was a gentleman from South America who had large coffee plantations, and who came over every year to sell his produce. He has stayed at the hotel about this time for the last four years. He has always engaged a good suite of rooms, has paid his accounts promptly,—I really do not know anything more about him."
"Has his niece accompanied him always?" I asked.
"Never before," Mr. Helmsley answered,—"at least, not to my recollection."