"Was he alone?"
"Quite alone. He'd the suit-case that's upstairs in the room now, and an overcoat and an umbrella."
"Of course," said the chief, "he gave you some name—some address?"
"He gave the name and address of Frank Herman, Walthamstow," replied the landlady, opening a ledger which she had brought into the room. "There you are—that's his writing."
The chief drew the book to him, glanced at the entry, and closed the book again, keeping a finger in it.
"Well, what was seen of him during the evening!" he asked.
"Nothing much," replied the landlady. "He had his supper in the coffee-room—a couple of chops and coffee. He was reading the papers in the smoking-room until about half-past ten; I saw him myself going upstairs between that and eleven. As I didn't see him about next morning and as his breakfast wasn't booked, I asked where he was, and the chambermaid said there was a card on his door saying that he wasn't to be called till eleven."
"Where is that card?" asked the chief.
"It's here in this envelope," answered the landlady, who seemed to be much more alert and much sharper of intellect than her husband. "I took care of it when we found out what had happened. I suppose you'll take charge of it?"
"If you please," answered the chief. He took the envelope, looked inside it to make sure that the card was there, and turned to the landlady again.