Nothing, alas! was known of Mr.Richard Lane.

He came back, frowning, to the steps of the hotel.
"If he is up playing golf at La Turbie," Hunterleys muttered, "we shall barely have time." A reception clerk tapped him on the shoulder.

He turned abruptly around.
"I have just made an enquiry of the floor waiter," the clerk announced.
"He believes that Mr.Lane is still in his room." Hunterleys thanked the man and hurried to the lift.

In a few moments he was knocking at the door of Lane's rooms.

His heart gave a great jump as a familiar voice bade him enter.