When I re-entered the hotel it was nearly seven o’clock, and, as I did so, the porter at the revolving door in Princes Street touched his cap and informed me that the hairdresser desired to see me again.
I ascended to the first floor, and entered the saloon, where I found the German with whom before luncheon I had spoken. He was seated alone, reading a newspaper.
“Ach, sir!” he exclaimed; “I thought perhaps you had left! I’m very glad you are still here! A most curious circumstance occurred this afternoon when I went off duty as usual from three till five. I live in Forth Street, at the back of the Theatre Royal, and while walking towards home along Broughton Street, I came face to face with the gentleman for whom you are searching.”
“You’ve seen him!” I gasped, half-inclined to disbelieve the man’s story, for he was evidently on the look-out for a substantial tip.
“Yes, he recognised me, and tried to avert his face. But I managed to get a good look at him, and am absolutely certain that I’m not mistaken. He was dressed differently, and looks many years younger than when I first saw him wearing his beard.”
“Then he is still in hiding here!” I gasped quickly. “Did you follow him?”
“I did. I had to exercise considerable caution, for he evidently fears that he is being traced. His attitude was essentially that of a man dreading recognition. He may be suspicious that you are here, sir.”
“But have you discovered where he is living?” I demanded breathlessly, my heart leaping.
“Yes, sir,” replied the German; “I have.”