What adventures had befallen me since I had breakfasted in that room, only forty-eight hours before, I reflected, as the waiter approached with the _Figaro_. Breakfast was laid for a hundred or more, but barely a dozen people were in the room. All were strangers to me, so I soon became engrossed in the newspaper. My attention was distracted by the waiter, who, again approaching, turned up two chairs at my table. "With all those tables empty," I said to him with a wave of the hand, "you can surely put people elsewhere. I don't want strangers here." He smiled pleasantly, showing extraordinarily white teeth. "A gentleman and lady wish to sit at monsieur's table," he said, bowing politely, and still smiling. "Monsieur will not object?" He seemed so amiable that I felt I couldn't be rude to him. "But who are the lady and gentleman? And why did they specify this table?" I asked, puzzled. The waiter gave a little shrug, raising his eyebrows as he did so. "How can I tell?" he answered. "They come to the door a moment ago, while monsieur is reading his newspaper; they see monsieur; they speak _ensemble_ in whispers for some moments, it would seem about monsieur; and then they call me and tell me to serve their _dejeuner_ at monsieur's table." Hardly had he stopped speaking, when my gaze rested upon two people who had just entered and were approaching. One was the police official, Victor Albeury. The other was Dulcie Challoner! They greeted me with, I thought, rather exaggerated nonchalance as they came up, then seated themselves, one on either side of me, Albeury telling the waiter to "hurry up with the breakfast that he had ordered five minutes ago." I was puzzled, rather than surprised, at the matter-of-fact way that Albeury and Dulcie conversed with me—few things astonished me now. Had we all been on the best of terms, and met after being separated for half an hour or so, they could hardly have been more composed. For five minutes we discussed commonplace topics, when suddenly I noticed that Albeury was looking at me very hard. Dulcie, too, seemed to have grown curiously uneasy. "Whereabouts is he?" Albeury said quickly in a low tone, glancing sharply at Dulcie. The door was at the back. "Gone," she whispered. She seemed greatly agitated. "Mr. Berrington," Albeury said hurriedly, his eyes set on mine, "I suspect that man. They all left last night. He arrived just before they left. I happened to see Doris Lorrimer engaged in earnest conversation with him." "Of whom are you speaking?" I asked, not understanding.