Knowing his value, I had wired to him to come to Cromer. He arrived when I was out. First, he looked through my traps, folded my trousers and coats, arranged my shirts and ties in order with professional precision, and when I returned, entered my room, saying briefly—
"I'm here, sir."
I threw myself into a chair and told him all that had occurred—of course, under strictest secrecy.
Then I gave him minute instructions as to making inquiries of the servants at the house in the Overstrand Road. A servant can always get useful information from other servants, for there is a freemasonry among all who are employed in domestic capacities.
Therefore, it was with interest that I sat in my room, overlooking the sea, on the following day, and listened to Rayner's report.
In his straw hat, and well-cut grey tweed suit, my man made a very presentable appearance. It was the same suit in which he went out to Richmond with his "young lady" on Sundays.
"Well, sir," he said, standing by the window, "I've managed to get to know something. The gentleman is a Belgian doctor named Paul Arendt. He has the two best rooms in the house and is the only visitor staying there at present. They say he's a bit eccentric; goes out at all hours, but gives lots of money in tips. Seemingly, he's pretty rich."
"Has he had any visitors?" I asked quickly.
"One. Another foreigner. An Italian named Bertini, who rides a motor-cycle."
"Has he been there often?"