The man spread out his hands with a deprecating gesture. “It is still very dark,” he said, “and Monsieur will find the hotels closed. Moreover, I do not wish to be rude to Monsieur, all the night porters may not be so accommodating as myself. “Permit me to help Monsieur,” he went on. “Monsieur will pardon me, but possibly this may be some romance.” He shrugged his shoulders again, but with such an air of civility and respect that Westerham could not quarrel with him. “At any rate, it is not my business to inquire. For the time it is merely my end to serve Monsieur well. Be seated for a little while I make coffee and bring rolls and butter. It will fortify Monsieur against the damp air.” Laughing a little, Westerham sat down again, and suffered the man to bustle about. The fellow was deft indeed, and soon Westerham was glad that he had listened to his counsel. The dawn came up, and the porter turned the lights out, and Westerham sat in the twilight of the early morning smoking more or less contentedly cigarettes of the Caporal brand. Shortly after six the man, who had been busy cleaning boots, returned and made a gesture towards the sunlight, which was streaming into the room. “If Monsieur is in haste,” he said, “I will not seek to detain him. By this time the other hotels will be open. If Monsieur's mission is urgent he should continue his search.” His air was so friendly and so charming that Westerham resorted to the only expression of appreciation of which he could conceive. He gave the man another five shillings, and pledged him to silence. None the less, he had little faith that the man would keep his tongue still. The Frenchman must talk. Thereafter Westerham went out into the fresh morning air and began his search. In turn he visited the Hôtel de la Poste, the Grand, the Europe, and the rest of them. It cost him a pretty sum to purchase the confidence of half-suspicious and still sleepy porters, but by the time he had worked through the list of hotels with which the man at the Hôtel de la Cloche had provided him he had come to the conclusion that Lady Kathleen was of a certainty not in one of these hostelries. Was she still in Rouen? The doubt troubled Westerham greatly, but he reflected that she might have elected to put up at a more humble hotel than any of those at which he had called. So with the assistance of a fairly friendly policeman he secured a second and much longer list of minor inns. The search, too, was successful. In a small and narrow street he discovered a small hotel which went by the name of the République. Here his question put to the plump Madame who opened the door at once kindled interest. “Yes, there was most decidedly an English lady staying there—a young English lady of most distinguished appearance. She had arrived about noon on the day before, and said she intended to stay there for a couple of days, as she expected friends.” “Had the friends arrived?”