Finally, lighting a cigarette with an air of nonchalance but ill assumed, Sheard strolled out of the hotel.
He had not passed the door ere Alden was clamouring for an hotel envelope. The boy was just about to enter a lift as the detective darted across the lobby and entered with him. Short as the time at his disposal had been, Mr. Alden had scrawled some illegible initial followed by "Gale, Esq.," upon the envelope, and had stuck down the flap.
The boy quitted the lift on the fourth floor. So did Alden. One or two passengers joined at that landing, but the unsuspecting boy went on his way along the corridor, turned to the right and rapped on a door numbered 63.
"Come in," he was instructed.
He entered, tray in hand. A tanned and bearded gentleman who was busily engaged unpacking a large steamer trunk, looked up inquiringly.
"Gentleman couldn't wait, sir," said the boy, and proffered the message.
The bearded man took the envelope, drew his brows together in an endeavour to recognise the scrawly handwriting; failed, and tore the envelope open.
It was empty!
"See here, boy! What's the game?"
He threw the envelope on the floor beside him and stared hard at the page.