The man made a sign of assent and withdrew. Deane rang for the chambermaid. Once, twice, three times he rang, without response. Then a middle-aged person came shuffling in, very much out of breath. Deane gave her some trivial order. "By the way," he asked, "are you the chambermaid who waits on this room?" "No!" she answered, with some hesitation. "The regular chambermaid is down at her breakfast." Deane nodded. "Will you tell her," he asked, "that I should like to see her as soon as she is up? I want to see about some laundry," he added. The woman disappeared. Deane was left alone once more. He unpacked some books, and made himself comfortable in an easy-chair. He was not able even to descend to the smoking-room. Mr. Stirling Deane, it was well known, had left town for Scotland. Mr. B. Stocks, who had arrived at the hotel the night before and taken this room, was a person who had particular reasons for not desiring to be seen even in the precincts of the hotel. Deane settled himself down to read--a somewhat difficult task. By the time he had smoked several cigarettes, there was a soft tap at the door and the waiter reappeared. "I beg your pardon, sir," he said. "Go ahead," Deane answered. "I have found a key in the service-room which I think would open Number 27." Deane nodded. "Very well," he said, "let me have the use of it to-night, and I will give you twenty pounds." The man moistened his lips with his tongue. Twenty pounds was a wonderful sum! But--! "There is a good deal of risk about it, sir," the man said slowly, "and I have to divide with the night-porter, who told me where to find this key." "Very well," Deane answered, "I will give you twenty pounds each,--no more." The man placed the key silently in his hands, and Deane counted out eight five-pound notes. "If I were you, sir," he said, "if you want to be alone in the room and be sure of no one seeing you, I should use it between four and five to-morrow morning. Everyone is off duty then except the night-porter." Deane nodded. "By the way," he said, "do you know anything about the chambermaid on this floor--the young, slim one?" The waiter shook his head. "She has only just come." "Do you know her name?" asked Deane. The man smiled. "It is always the same," he answered,--"always Mary." "She would not be allowed in 27?" Deane asked. "She would not be likely to be there to clean it out, or anything of that sort?"' The man shook his head again. "No one is allowed to enter it," he said. "No one has been in but the detectives and lawyers." Deane dismissed the man and settled down once more to his reading. He found it difficult, however, to concentrate his thoughts. The key was on the chair by his side. It was all he could do to restrain himself from stealing down the corridor and commencing his search. CHAPTER XIX THE SEARCH