descended from the train; and yet it was manifest that he did not arrive
at Grosvenor Road, where tickets were taken. After persistent and wider
inquiries, however, at Clapham Junction (which was the most likely point
of departure), a cabman was found who remembered having taken up a
fare--a gentleman in a fur coat--about the hour indicated. He
particularly remarked the gentleman, because he looked odd and foreign
and half tipsy (that was how he seemed to him), because he was wrapped
up "enough for Father Christmas," and because he asked to be driven such
a long way--to a well-known hotel near the Crystal Palace, where
"foreign gents" were fond of staying. Being asked what in particular had
made him think the gentleman a foreigner, cabby could not exactly say;
he believed, however, it was his coat and his eyes. Of his face he saw
little or nothing, it was so muffled up; yet his tongue was English
enough.

Inquiry was then pushed on to the hotel named by the cabman. A gentleman
in a fur coat had certainly arrived there the evening before, but no one
had seen anything of him after his arrival. He had taken dinner in his
private sitting-room, and had then paid his bill, because, he said, he
must be gone early in the morning. About half an hour after dinner, when
a waiter cleared the things away, he had gone to his room, and next
morning he had left the hotel soon after dawn. Boots, half asleep, had
seen him walk away, bag in hand, wrapped in his greatcoat,--walk away,
it would seem, and dissolve into the mist of the morning, for from that
point no further trace could be got of him. No such figure as his had
been seen on any of the roads leading from the hotel, either by the
early milkman, or by the belated coffee-stall keeper, or night cabman.
Being asked what name the gentleman had given at the hotel, the
book-keeper showed her record, with the equivocal name of "M. Dolaro."
The name might be Italian or Spanish,--or English or American for that