When we got to Ostend I made systematic inquiries at the Post Office and
at all probable hotels. At the eleventh hotel (a very humble one) I heard
that a "Mr. Chevons" had stayed there one night, three nights ago. No, he
had nobody with him. He had left no address. They didn't know where he
was going on to. I found out under another rubric that Englishmen never
came to this hotel. There was no point in making a separate search for
Viola; if my intuition held good, all I had to do was to find out where
Jevons was.

I went on to Bruges. Why, I cannot tell you. I had never heard either
Viola or Jevons say they would like to see Bruges. But Bruges was the
sort of place that people did like to see.

No trace of Jevons or of Viola in Bruges.

I went on to Antwerp (it was another of the likely places), and then, in
sheer desperation, to Ghent.

And in Ghent, in a certain hotel in the _Place d'Armes_, I ran up against
Burton Withers, the man who used to be on the old _Dispatch_, and the
very last person I could have wished to see. I didn't ask him if he'd
seen Jevons; I didn't mention Jevons; but before we'd parted he had told
me that, by the way, he'd come across Jevons in Bruges. He was going
about with my typist, Miss Thesiger. They were staying in the same hotel.

I tried to say as casually as I could that Miss Thesiger had wired to me
that she was staying in that hotel with her people.

The little bounder then intimated that when he saw Miss Thesiger her
people were less conspicuous than Jevons.