"Where did you take the veiled lady?"

The coachman drew in suddenly and apprehensively. "Herr, are you from
the police?"

"Thousand thunders, no! It was by accident that I stood near the gate
when she got out. Who was she?"

"That is better. They both told me that they were giving charity. I did
not see the lady's face, but she went into number forty, the same as the
steward. You won't forget the extra crown, Herr?"

"No; I'll make it five. Turn back and leave me at the Grand Hotel."
Then he muttered: "Krumerweg, crooked way, number forty. If I see this
old side-paddler stopping at the palace steps again, I'll take a look at
number forty myself."

On the return to the hotel the station omnibus had arrived with a
solitary guest. A steamer trunk and a couple of bags were being trundled
in by the porter, while the concierge was helping a short, stocky man to
the ground. He hurried into the hotel, signed the police slips, and
asked for his room. He seemed to be afraid of the dark. He was gone when
Carmichael went into the office.

"Your Excellency," said the concierge, rubbing his hands and smiling
after the manner of concierges born in Switzerland, "a compatriot of
yours arrived this evening."

"What name?" indifferently. Compatriots were always asking impossible