And yet I had been told that he was not staying there!
I held my paper in such position as to conceal my face while I watched his movements.
He halted, opened a telegram, and read it eagerly. Then, crushing it in his hand with a gesture of annoyance, he thrust it into his jacket pocket.
He was dressed in a smart dark grey suit, which fitted him perfectly, a grey soft felt hat, while his easy manner and bearing were those of a gentleman of wealth and leisure. He held a cigar between his fingers, and, walking slowly as he opened one of the letters, he presently threw himself into one of the big arm-chairs near me, and became absorbed in his correspondence.
There was a waste-paper basket near, and into this he tossed something as valueless. One of the letters evidently caused him considerable annoyance, for, removing his hat, he passed his hand slowly over his bald head as he sat staring at it in mystification. Then he rang the bell, and ordered something from a waiter. A liqueur of brandy was brought, and, tossing it off at a gulp, he rose, wrote a telegram at the table near him, and went quickly out.
After he had gone I also rose, and, without attracting attention, crossed, took up another paper, and then seated myself in the chair he had vacated.
My eye was upon the waste-paper basket, and when no one was looking I reached out and took therefrom a crumpled blue envelope—the paper he had flung away.
Smoothing it out, I found that it was not addressed to him, but to “Arnold Du Cane, Esq., Travellers’ Club, Paris,” and had been re-directed to this hotel.
This surprised me.
I rose, and, crossing to the mail-clerk, asked—