I drew up further along, at the corner of the Embankment, at the same time watching the old man pay the driver and enter, being saluted by the uniformed porter, who evidently knew him.
For about five minutes I waited. Then I entered the hotel, where I also was well known, having very often stayed there.
Of the porter at the door, who touched his hat as I went in, I asked the name of the old gentleman who had just entered.
"I don't know his name, sir. He often stays here. They'll tell you at the key-office."
So I ascended the stairs into the hall, and made inquiry of the sharp-eyed, dark-faced man at the key-counter.
"Oh, Mr. Vernon, you mean, sir? Been in about five minutes. He's just gone up in the lift—Room 139a, first-floor—shall I send your name up, Mr. Vidal?"
"No, I'll go up," I said. "You're sure he is up in his room?"
"Quite sure, sir. He took his key about five minutes ago."
"Is he often here?"
"Every month," was the reply. "He usually spends about a week with us, and always has the same room."