In a tone of obvious annoyance the proprietor returned the card,
saying that there was no one of that name in the hotel, and added
that no such person had ever stopped there. Ford expressed the
liveliest distress.

"He TOLD me I'd find him here," he protested., "he and his niece."
With the garrulousness of the American abroad, he confided his
troubles to the entire staff of the hotel. "We're from the same
town," he explained. "That's why I must see him. He's the only man
in London I know, and I've spent all my money. He said he'd give me
some he owes me, as soon as I reached London. If I can't get it,
I'll have to go home by Wednesday's steamer. And, complained
bitterly, "I haven't seen the nor the Tower, nor Westminster
Abbey."

In a moment, Ford's anxiety to meet Mr. Pearsall was apparently
lost in a wave of self-pity. In his disappointment he appealing,
pathetic figure.

Real detectives and rival newspaper men, even while they admitted
Ford obtained facts that were denied them, claimed that they were
given him from charity. Where they bullied, browbeat, and
administered a third degree, Ford was embarrassed, deprecatory, an
earnest, ingenuous, wide-eyed child. What he called his "working"
smile begged of you not to be cross with him. His simplicity was
apparently so hopeless, his confidence in whomever he addressed so
complete, that often even the man he was pursuing felt for him a
pitying contempt. Now as he stood uncertainly in the hall of the
hotel, his helplessness moved the proud lady clerk to shake her
cylinders of false hair sympathetically, the German waiters to