"And they went to Marbury's room?" said Rathbury. "What then?"

"Well, then, Mr. Marbury rang for some whiskey and soda," continued
Mrs. Walters. "He was particular to have a decanter of whiskey: that,
and a syphon of soda were taken up there. I heard nothing more until
nearly midnight; then the hall-porter told me that the gentleman in 20
had gone out, and had asked him if there was a night-porter--as, of
course, there is. He went out at half-past eleven."

"And the other gentleman?" asked Rathbury.

"The other gentleman," answered the landlady, "went out with him. The
hall-porter said they turned towards the station. And that was the
last anybody in this house saw of Mr. Marbury. He certainly never came
back."

"That," observed Rathbury with a quiet smile, "that is quite certain,
ma'am? Well--I suppose we'd better see this Number 20 room, and have a
look at what he left there."

"Everything," said Mrs. Walters, "is just as he left it. Nothing's been
touched."

It seemed to two of the visitors that there was little to touch. On the
dressing-table lay a few ordinary articles of toilet--none of them of
any quality or value: the dead man had evidently been satisfied with
the plain necessities of life. An overcoat hung from a peg: Rathbury,
without ceremony, went through its pockets; just as unceremoniously he
proceeded to examine trunk and bag, and finding both unlocked, he laid