DAWN The hall-porter was only too ready for further chat.

It was the dull season, and this visitor was one of a variety always popular in the quieter hotels; he was never above a pleasant word with the servants.
Yet the porter stared at Langholm as he approached.

His face was flushed, and his eyes so bright that there would have been but one diagnosis by the average observer.

But the porter knew that Langholm had come in sober, and that for the last twenty minutes he had sat absorbed in the hotel register.
"I see," said Langholm--and even his voice was altered, which made the other stare the harder--"I see that a friend of mine stayed here just upon a year ago.

I wonder if you remember him ?" "If it was the off-season, sir, I dare say I shall." "It was in September, and his name was Steel." "How long did he stay ?" "Only one night, I gather--an elderly gentleman with very white hair." The porter's face lighted up.
"I remember him, sir! I should think I did! A very rich gentleman, I should say; yes, he only stayed the one night, but he gave me a sovereign when he went away next day." "He is very rich," said Langholm, repressing by main force a desire to ask a string of questions.