I shook my head.

“No, thanks!” I answered.  “I am afraid there is nothing more to be learned.”

The porter went back to his duties, and I bade the clerk good night.  Up in my room Fritz was waiting anxiously.

“You were right and wrong,” I announced.  “Mr. Delora has been staying here and left to-night.”

“He has gone!” Fritz exclaimed.

“He left at eleven o’clock,” I answered.  “He saw me, and I suppose he knew that I was looking for him.  Here’s half your money, anyhow,” I continued, giving him a five-pound note.  “The next thing to do is to find out where he has gone to.  I think you could help here, Fritz.”

“What must I do?” the man asked.

“First of all,” I said, “go to the big railway hotels and try and find out from one of the porters—­you Germans all stick together—­whether any one arrived in a four-wheel cab at between eleven and twelve this evening, whose description coincides with that of Mr. Delora.  I reckon that will take you most of to-morrow.  When you have finished come to me at the Milan Court, and let me know how you have got on.”

“So!” the man remarked, rising from his seat.  “To-morrow morning I will do that.  They will tell me, these fellows.  I know many of them.”

“Good night, Fritz, then!” I said.  “Good luck!”

CHAPTER XXVII

WAR

Early on the following morning I moved back to my rooms in the Milan Court.  Curiously enough I entered the building with a sense of depression for which I could not account.  I went first to my own rooms and glanced at my letters.  There was nothing there of importance.  In other words, there was nothing from Felicia.  I descended to the fifth floor and knocked at the door of her room.  As I stood there waiting I was absolutely certain that somehow or other a change had occurred in the situation, that the freeness of my intercourse with Felicia was about to be interfered with.  I was not in the least surprised when the door was at last cautiously opened, and a woman who was a perfect stranger to me stood on the threshold, with the handle of the door still in her hand.

“I should like to see Miss Delora,” I said.  “My name is Captain Rotherby.”

The woman shook her head.  She was apparently French, and of the middle-class.  She was dressed in black, her eyes and eyebrows were black, she had even the shadow of a moustache upon her upper lip.  To me her appearance was singularly forbidding.

“Miss Delora cannot see you,” she answered, with a strong foreign accent.

“Will you be so good as to inquire if that is so?” I answered.  “I have an appointment with Miss Delora for this morning, and a motor-car waiting to take her out.”

“Miss Delora cannot receive you,” answered the woman, almost as though she had not heard, and closed the door in my face.