They drove slowly past the place where he had disappeared. It was a modest little hotel with a Spanish name: Hotel dos Estados Unidos. Through the windows of the lobby they saw the tall man standing by the desk, apparently being assigned to a room. "What does he come here for?" murmured the girl more and more perplexed. Greg went on for a block, and turning, came slowly back on the other side. The hotel lobby was now empty, except for the dozing clerk behind the desk. Greg brought the cab to a stop just beyond the hotel where they could still command an oblique view of the lobby. "What now?" he said. "I don't know what to say," she murmured. "I can't imagine why he should come here to sleep. I can't believe that he does mean to sleep here. I believe he'll be out again. Let's wait and see." They continued to discuss the situation, a discussion with little profit as far as Greg was concerned, for he lacked a clue. The burden of her cry was: "If only I knew what he was up to!" By and by another cab drew up to the little hotel and a man and woman got out; innocent belated travelers these, who have nothing to do with the story; but the sight of them gave Greg an idea. "I might slip into the lobby while this man's registering," he said, "and glance over his shoulder. I could find out then what name the other registered under. I could make out to be after a drink of water or something. That is, if you wish me to." "Yes, do so!" she said eagerly. "It might give us a clue." Returning to her two minutes later Greg said: "He wrote himself down as Antonio Bareda of Santiago de Managuay." The effect on the girl was startling. She fell back in her seat. "What! My uncle's name! Has he stolen that too? Oh, something terrible is going on!" Greg stood with a foot on the running-board at a loss what to say. He finally murmured diffidently: "If you could tell me what you suspect----" "I can't! I can't!" she cried. "I don't understand it myself. It is too horrible!" Presently more composed, she said: "One thing is sure, I daren't leave here now. I must find out what he's up to if I have to wait till morning. But you must be tired out. Why don't you get in the back of the cab and sleep until daylight, then I'll call you, and you can relieve me. If necessary I can run the car. We have one at home to save the big car." Greg reminded afresh of his original grisly passenger felt a cold chill down his spine. That problem remained to be solved. He hung irresolute. "Go on, get in," she urged, putting her hand around like a chauffeur to open the door. Greg hastily gripped it. "Don't open it!" he cried. She looked at him in astonishment. "The fact is there's something I didn't tell you," he lamely explained. "I've got a sou--I mean a drunken man in there." "What! You mean we've been carrying him around all night!" "I guess he didn't mind."