Here, you!"-- this to one of the gaping waiters--"just slip across to the office and find out the number of this gentleman's room." The waiter hurried away and speedily returned with the proprietor of the hotel, a little man in check trousers and a frock coat, with a bald head and an anxious, yet resigned eye which was obviously prepared for the worst.

His demeanour was that of a man who, already overloaded by misfortune, was bracing his sinews to bear the last straw.

As he approached the group near the alcove table he smoothed his harassed features into an expression of solicitude, and, addressing himself to the man who was supporting the young man on the floor, said, in a voice intended to be sympathetic, "I thought I had better come myself, Sir Henry.

I could not understand from Antoine what you wanted or what had happened.

Antoine said something about somebody dying in the breakfast-room----" "Nothing of the sort!" snapped the gentleman addressed as Sir Henry, shifting his posture a little so as to enable the young man to lean against his shoulder.