On the next day, Francis Westwick arrived in excellent spirits. He had signed agreements with the most popular dancer in Italy; he had transferred the charge of Mrs. Norbury to his brother Henry, who had joined him in Milan; and he was now at full liberty to amuse himself by testing in every possible way the extraordinary influence exercised over his relatives by the new hotel. When his brother and sister first told him what their experience had been, he instantly declared that he would go to Venice in the interest of his theatre. The circumstances related to him contained invaluable hints for a ghost-drama. The title occurred to him in the railway: “The Haunted Hotel.” Post that in red letters six feet high, on a black ground, all over London—and trust the excitable public to crowd into the theatre! Received with the politest attention by the manager, Francis met with a disappointment on entering the hotel. “Some mistake, sir. No such room on the first floor as Number Fourteen. The room bearing that number is on the second floor, and has been occupied by me, from the day when the hotel opened. Perhaps you meant number 13 A, on the first floor? It will be at your service to-morrow—a charming room. In the mean time, we will do the best we can for you, to-night.” A man who is the successful manager of a theatre is probably the last man in the civilized universe who is capable of being impressed with favourable opinions of his fellow-creatures. Francis privately set the manager down as a humbug, and the story about the numbering of the rooms as a lie. On the day of his arrival, he dined by himself in the restaurant, before the hour of the table d’hote, for the express purpose of questioning the waiter, without being overheard by anybody. The answer led him to the conclusion that “13 A” occupied the situation in the hotel which had been described by his brother and sister as the situation of “14.” He asked next for the Visitors’ List; and found that the French gentleman who then occupied “13 A,” was the proprietor of a theatre in Paris, personally well known to him. Was the gentleman then in the hotel? He had gone out, but would certainly return for the table d’hote. When the public dinner was over, Francis entered the room, and was welcomed by his Parisian colleague, literally, with open arms. “Come and have a cigar in my room,” said the friendly Frenchman. “I want to hear whether you have really engaged that woman at Milan or not.” In this easy way, Francis found his opportunity of comparing the interior of the room with the description which he had heard of it at Milan.