Lefarge’s next visit was to be the Hôtel Maximilian. It was a large modern building occupying a complete block of the Boulevard Waterloo, not far from the Porte Louise. A polite clerk came to the bureau window to attend to him. ‘I am expecting to meet a M. Boirac here,’ Lefarge began. ‘Can you tell me if he is in the hotel?’ ‘M. Boirac?’ repeated the clerk, doubtfully, ‘I do not think we have any one of that name here at present.’ He turned over a card index on the desk. ‘No, monsieur, he has not come yet.’ Lefarge took out a photograph. ‘That is he,’ he said, ‘a M. Raoul Boirac, of Paris.’ ‘Oh, to be sure,’ returned the clerk, ‘I know that gentleman. He has frequently stayed with us, but he is not here at present.’ The detective began to turn over the leaves of his pocket-book as if looking for something. ‘I hope I haven’t made a mistake in the date,’ he said. ‘He wasn’t here recently by any chance, was he?’ ‘He was here, monsieur, quite lately--last week in fact. He spent one night.’ Lefarge made a gesture of annoyance. ‘I’ve missed him!’ he exclaimed. ‘As sure as fate I’ve missed him. Can you tell me what night he was here?’ ‘Certainly, monsieur.’ He turned up some papers. ‘He was here on Wednesday night, the 31st March.’ ‘I’ve missed him. Now, isn’t that too bad? I must have mistaken the date.’ The detective stood apparently considering. ‘Did he mention my name--Pascal, Jules Pascal?’ The clerk shook his head. ‘Not to me, monsieur.’ Lefarge continued, as if to himself:-- ‘He must have come through from Paris that night.’ And then to the clerk: ‘You don’t remember, I suppose, what time he arrived?’ ‘Yes, I do. It was late in the evening, about eleven, I should think.’ ‘Rather a chance coming at that hour, wasn’t it? He might easily have found you full?’ ‘Oh, he had reserved his room. Earlier in the evening he telephoned up from a restaurant in the Boulevard Anspach that he was coming.’ ‘Was that before five? I was to meet him about five.’ ‘Not so early, I think. More like half-past seven or even eight, as well as I can remember.’ ‘Well, I can’t understand it at all. But I mustn’t be wasting your time. I’ll write a note and, if he should turn up again, perhaps you would be kind enough to give it to him? I’m much obliged to you, I’m sure.’ Lefarge was an artist in his profession. He never made an impersonation without carrying through the details in the most thorough manner possible. He therefore wrote a note to M. Boirac in an assumed hand, regretting having missed him and carefully explaining some quite imaginary business. Having signed it ‘Jules Pascal’ with a flourish, and left it with the clerk, he took his leave.