The cherubic landlord was just then pacing up and down the lobby,
pausing here and there to interchange a word with his guests. Uncle
John approached him and said:

"Can you tell me, Mr. Ross, who the gentleman is in the corner?"

The landlord looked around at the corner and smiled.

"That," said he, "is the gentleman we spoke of this afternoon--Mr.
C.B. Jones--the man who usurped the rooms intended for you."

"Rooms?" repeated Uncle John. "Has he a large party, then?"

"He is alone; that is the queer part of it," returned the landlord.
"Nor has he much baggage. But he liked the suite--a parlor with five
rooms opening out of it--and insisted upon having them all, despite
the fact that it is one of the most expensive suites in the hotel. I
said he was eccentric, did I not?"

"You were justified," said Mr. Merrick, thought fully. "Thank you,
sir, for the information."

Even as he rejoined the girls, who were seated together upon a broad
divan, the man arose, laid down his magazine and came slowly down
the room, evidently headed for the elevator. But with a start he
recognized the girl who had accosted him on the beach, and the others
with her, and for an instant came to a full stop before the group, his
sad eyes fixed intently upon Myrtle's face.

The situation was a bit awkward, and to relieve it Uncle John remarked