post-haste for the manager, found him by good luck just outside in the corridor, and brought him back. He sent for you. That's all.” “Thank you, sir.” The Chief Inspector handed back the passport. “May I ask the names of your friends in Paris, though I don't suppose for a moment that there'll be any need to use the addresses.” “I only stayed part of the time at private houses. Part of the time I put up at the Crillon. I'm afraid I don't just see my way to giving you my friends' names. You ask about me at the Embassy, Chief: they'll set your mind at rest.” “Thank you, sir, but my mind isn't uneasy. All these questions are only part of the routine.” The Chief Inspector smiled that cheery smile of his which the London underworld dreaded more than any frown. “And now, this afternoon—let me see, where did you say you were?” “The boat didn't get in till about five. The rest of the time till I arrived here about half-past six I spent in taxis driving from hotel to hotel. Anything else, Chief?” The Chief Inspector assured him that there was nothing else, and suggested that he might like to try one of the very comfortable chairs in the lounge, and that should he meet the manager would he mind asking him to step into his own sitting-room again. The manager's story was brevity itself. He told of Beale's arrival “about half-past six,” his appeal to him to get him some sort of a shelter on such a night. “I believe he offered to share the dog's kennel provided the beast didn't bite. Incidentally, he told me who he was. Of course, I wanted to do my best for such a client, and thought of the only vacant room in the house,—No. 14. It was fresh in my mind, for I had been talking to the booking clerk when the 'phone came through saying that Mr. Eames would be away over the week-end. Of course as a rule we shouldn't dream of letting anyone else occupy a room under such circumstances, but——” “One moment: who answered the 'phone?” “The booking-clerk.” “Thank you, sir. Well, so you took Mr. Beale to No. 14. Did you have the room freshly done up for him—I mean, fresh towels and so on?” “Of course.” “And then?” “I saw him at dinner in our restaurant, and said a word to the head waiter, then I saw no more of him till he stopped me in the corridor and told me that there was a dead man in his wardrobe.” “Could you repeat his exact words?” “‘Excuse me, Mr. Manager, but do you know that someone's left a dead man in the wardrobe of that room you let me have?’” “How did he look? Excited? Frightened?” The manager thought a moment. “Excited, I should say, and trying not to show it.” “And now you, sir, where were you this afternoon?” The manager sat up. “But look here, Inspector,—why, good God,—I thought it was as clear a case of suicide——” The manager's eyes were almost out of his head. “Bless you, sir, ten to one this is all only a matter of form. We always do it. Police routine, you know.”