In the Commissary’s office, the requisite papers were in preparation for the committal of the pickpocket when a superior official entered.
“What is it, sir?” asked the Commissary.
“Why, this, sir; the individual in your charge is known to the police.”
“Well, what about him?”
“That man is an old gaol-bird; we don’t know his proper name, but among the crooks he goes by the nickname of the ‘Beauty Boy’.”
CHAPTER XI
MAD AS A HATTER
All was bustle and movement in the great entrance-hall of the Hôtel Terminus, the imposing edifice that rears its bulk immediately outside the Gare Saint-Lazare; there was a never ceasing coming and going of travellers, new customers continually arriving from the trains reaching Paris from all parts, others taking their departure for a hundred different destinations in all quarters of the globe. The throng was especially dense round a small office of a severe and dignified aspect worthy of a public Ministry, but more elegant in its furniture and appointments, where three active young women were busy quickly and methodically answering countless questions in a dozen different languages, entering the names of the various newcomers in a great ledger and indicating the rooms assigned them.
Amongst other applicants was the American Tom Bob, cool and collected as always. In two minutes he had completed the necessary formalities, and, under the guidance of a servant of the hotel carrying his hand baggage, was crossing the hall towards the lift. But turning suddenly on the man, the traveller shook his head emphatically and announced his intention of mounting by the stairs to the suite he had previously engaged by wireless on the third floor.
“I don’t like lifts,” he said peremptorily, and heedless of the look of surprise on the servant’s face at so unusual a preference, insisted on adopting the slower and more fatiguing route.
Before reaching the foot of the grand staircase, however, he was very unexpectedly—to the best of his belief the American did not know a soul in all Paris—accosted by a shabbily dressed young man, a total stranger to him, who earnestly craved the favour of a few minutes’ conversation.