“In that case I must begin my rounds of the hotels again, I suppose,” said Burrell. After luncheon he did so. The result, however, was by no means satisfactory. He made inquiries at every hotel of importance, and at many that were not, but try as he would he could glean no tidings of the pair whose doings he was so anxious to trace. “It’s evident I’ve gone wrong somewhere,” he said to himself. “I don’t think I will waste any more time in this place, but go straight on to Vienna and look about me there. We know that the box hailed from the Austrian capital and that the wedding ring was manufactured in the same country. For my own part I don’t believe they came to Rome at all.” Once more he resumed his journey and at length had the satisfaction of finding himself in Francis Joseph’s famous city. He was very fond of Vienna, partly because he had made two important captures there, and possibly more so for the reason that one of the best deals in stamps he had ever effected was brought to a head in that delightful city. On this occasion he lost no time, but set to work immediately on his arrival. In this town, however, the search was not destined to prove a difficult one. He had not been more than twice unsuccessful when he tried the Hotel National in the Käarntner Strasse. The manager himself admitted that he had a bad memory for faces, but he was quite sure of one thing, if they had stayed at his hotel, his head waiter would be sure to recollect them. That functionary was immediately summoned to the council, and the photograph was placed before him. He had no sooner looked upon it than he recognised it as being the likeness of the gentleman who had stayed there with an Italian girl. They had come to Vienna to be married it was said. “To be married?” said Burrell in astonishment. “What do you mean by that? Weren’t they married when they arrived?” Before the waiter could answer, light had dawned upon the manager, who thereupon chimed in. “Ah, my friend, I remember now,” he said. “That was the gentleman who was married at the Church of Funfhaus in the Gurtel Strasse. Now I can recall the pair perfectly.” “The Church of Funfhaus in the Gurtel Strasse, you said, I think,” said Burrell, making a note of the name in his pocket-book for future reference. “Pray how long did the happy couple remain with you?” “For upward of a fortnight,” the manager replied, consulting a book. “But they were not happy all the time!” “What do you mean by that? Why were they not happy?” “For a very simple reason,” the manager replied. “I mean that toward the end of their stay it was becoming plain to most of us that the gentleman was a little neglectful of his bride. Yet she was a beautiful girl! Ah! a beautiful girl!” “It was the waning of the honeymoon,” said Burrell cynically. “Poor girl, it didn’t last long.” He paused for a while to pursue his own thoughts, then he continued aloud, “Have you any idea where they went after they left here?”