A tall, bearded man, and a foreigner! Smeaton pricked up his ears. The description tallied somewhat with that of the person who had dined with Monkton in the little restaurant in Soho. Davies was dismissed with encouraging words and a liberal _douceur_. Given Smeaton the semblance of a clue, and he was on the track like a bloodhound. Within twenty minutes of the taxi-driver's departure, he was interviewing one of the hall-porters at the Savoy, an imposing functionary, and an old friend. Smeaton had a large and extensive acquaintance among people who could be useful. He knew the hall-porters of all the big hotels. They were men of quick intelligence, keen powers of observation, and gathered much important information. He had unravelled many a mystery with their assistance. The detective, standing aside in the hall, described the man as he had been featured by Davies. Did the hall-porter recognise him? The answer was in the affirmative. "He's not a man you would be likely to forget, Mr Smeaton," he said. "He is a pretty frequent visitor here. He lunches two or three times a week, and is popular with the waiters, through being pretty free with his tips. Most times he comes alone. Now and again he brings a guest, but nobody we know." "And his name?" questioned Smeaton eagerly. "Well, that's the funny part of it," explained the other man. "We get to know the names of the habitues sooner or later, but none of us have ever heard his. He never seems to meet anybody here that he knows, and none of the waiters have ever heard one of his guests address him by name. The maitre d'hotel and I have often talked him over, and wondered who and what he was." Smeaton showed his disappointment. "That is unfortunate. Let us see if we can be more successful in another direction. Yesterday afternoon, about three o'clock, this man, whose name we don't know, drove away from this place in a taxi, accompanied by a lady. My informant tells me she was smartly dressed, and he puts her age at about thirty, or perhaps less." The hall-porter indulged in a smile of satisfaction. "I think I can help you there, Mr Smeaton. I was passing through the palm-court at the time, and saw them go out together. We all know the lady very well. She is here pretty often. Sometimes she comes with a big party, sometimes with a lady friend, sometimes with a gentleman. Her name is Saxton, and she has a flat in Hyde Park Mansions. One of her friends told me she is a widow." "What sort of a person is she? How would you class her? She seems to dress well, and is, I suppose, attractive." The hall-porter mused a moment before he replied. Like most of his class, he was an expert at social classification.