I rushed down to the manager of the hotel, and asked if any visitors had been admitted into my rooms during my absence, or any message delivered to my wife. The manager, who was the soul of politeness, and who was smoking a cigarette after the labors of the day, made inquiries of the concierge and of the servants who had not retired to rest. No person had called to see madame; no message had been taken to her; she had not been seen to leave the hotel. Had she rung for refreshment or assistance? No. Had any sounds of disturbance been heard in her apartment? No, the apartment had been perfectly quiet. Were they certain that madame could not have left the hotel without being seen? It was not possible. She would have had to pass through the courtyard, and the concierge or an assistant was constantly on the watch, noting who came and who went. Then, how to account for the facts of her bedroom door being locked and of her not answering to my call? The servants could not account for it; the manager could not account for it. With profuse apologies he hazarded a question. Was madame subject to fainting fits? Was it that she had swooned? With my permission he would accompany me to the apartment, and together we could ascertain. We ascertained nothing; we discovered no clue to the mystery. The door defied all our efforts to open it, and no reply was given to our summons. The suspense was maddening. "See, monsieur," said the manager, stooping, and putting his eye to the key-hole, "the door is locked from within. The key is in the lock. Be tranquil; madame is safe; she has fallen into a sound sleep. I myself sleep so soundly that----" I interrupted him impatiently. "If my wife has fallen asleep she must be awakened." He did not see the necessity; if I would be patient madame would herself awake when she had slept enough; then all would be well. "My wife must be awakened," I repeated vehemently. "Undoubtedly," he then said, falling complacently into my humor. "If you insist, monsieur, madame must be awakened." "But how?" I cried, in a fever of anxiety, which with every passing moment grew more intense. "As monsieur says," he replied, with exasperating coolness, "but how?" "The lock must be forced." "A million pardons, monsieur. The lock of the door is of a particular kind. It is not a common lock--no, no. It was put on especially for a distinguished visitor, who frequently occupies this apartment. It is what is called a patent lock, and is the property of our distinguished visitor. I cannot consent that it shall be forced." "Then we will have a piece cut out of the door. By that means we can reach the key, and turn the lock from within." "Again a million pardons. The door is of oak; it was made for our distinguished visitor. I cannot consent, monsieur, that the door shall be destroyed." "Hang you! Stand aside!"