"Nor was the identity of the wounded man ever satisfactorily established. Who he was, where he came from, who were his associates and what were his antecedents, he never revealed. He was detained in hospital for a time, as he certainly was suffering from loss of memory. But presently they had to let him go. He had money and he was otherwise perfectly sane, but to every question put to him he only answered, 'I don't know! I can't remember!' He spoke English without the slightest trace of foreign accent; all that was foreign about him was his jet-black hair and beard. Nor was the history of the revolver ever traced to its source. Where was it bought? To whom was it sold, and by whom? Nobody ever knew." "But where did the man go after he left the hospital?" I now asked, seeing that the funny creature looked like curling himself up in his corner and going to sleep. "Surely he was kept under observation when they let him out!" "Of course he was," he replied glibly, "and for some time after that." "Then where did he go," I reiterated, impatiently, "when he was discharged from hospital?" "He asked the way to the nearest public library and went straight there; he looked down the columns of the _Morning Post_, scribbled a few addresses on a scrap of paper, then he took a taxi and drove to one of the private hotels in Mexborough Gate, where he engaged a room, paying a fortnight's board and lodging in advance. Here he lived for some considerable time. He was always plentifully supplied with money, he bought himself clothes and linen, but where he got the money from was never discovered. For a time he was watched both by the police and by amateur detectives eager for copy, but nothing was ever discovered that would clear up the mystery. From time to time letters came for him at the hotel in Mexborough Gate. They were addressed to 'Allen Lloyd, Esq.' which may or may not have been a taken-up name. Presumably these letters contained remittances in cash. They were never traced to their source. Anyway he always paid his weekly bills at the hotel; but he never spoke to any one in the place, nor, as far as could be ascertained, did he ever meet any one or enter any house except the one he lodged in. "Then one fine day he left the hotel, never to return. He went out one afternoon and nothing has been seen or heard of him from that day to this. The mysterious Mr. Allen Lloyd has disappeared in the whirlpool of London, leaving no trace of his identity. He had paid his bill at the hotel that very day. He left no debts and just a very few personal belongings behind. To all intents and purposes the matter was relegated in the public mind to the category of unsolved and unsolvable mysteries." §2