“The night before last. He was alone—with only a handbag. I charged him with a deposit for his room.”
“Have you ever seen him before?” I asked.
“Never to my recollection.”
“Neither have I,” remarked the concierge. “He seemed very afraid of being seen. I noticed him in the lounge last night. He left this morning quite suddenly, and without taking anything—even a cup of coffee.”
“He left in a violent hurry—eh?” I exclaimed, well knowing the reason. “Well,” I added, “I wish to see the manager.”
“I will inform him,” the clerk replied, and he went to the telephone. A minute later, after exchanging a few words in Spanish, he turned to me, saying:
“You will find the manager’s office on the first floor. If you take the lift the man will direct you, señor.”
A few minutes later I was seated in the office of an elderly bald-headed man, a typical hôtelier, courteous, smiling, and eager to hear any complaint that I might have to make.
At once I told him of my curious adventure of the previous night, and of the sudden flight of the mysterious stranger whom I had discovered in my room.