Especially did he shine in the matter of dress. In this he was the
despair of imitators. Always correct, exquisitely groomed, and possessed
of an unlimited wardrobe, he was conceded to be the best-dressed man in
New York, and, therefore, in America. There was not a tailor in Gotham
who would not have deemed it a precious boon to have been granted the
privilege of making Bellchambers' clothes without a cent of pay. As he
wore them, they would have been a priceless advertisement. Trousers
were his especial passion. Here nothing but perfection would he notice.
He would have worn a patch as quickly as he would have overlooked a
wrinkle. He kept a man in his apartments always busy pressing his ample
supply. His friends said that three hours was the limit of time that he
would wear these garments without exchanging.

Bellchambers disappeared very suddenly. For three days his absence
brought no alarm to his friends, and then they began to operate the
usual methods of inquiry. All of them failed. He had left absolutely no
trace behind. Then the search for a motive was instituted, but none was
found. He had no enemies, he had no debts, there was no woman. There
were several thousand dollars in his bank to his credit. He had never
showed any tendency toward mental eccentricity; in fact, he was of a
particularly calm and well-balanced temperament. Every means of tracing
the vanished man was made use of, but without avail. It was one of those
cases--more numerous in late years--where men seem to have gone out like
the flame of a candle, leaving not even a trail of smoke as a witness.

In May, Tom Eyres and Lancelot Gilliam, two of Bellchambers' old
friends, went for a little run on the other side. While pottering around
in Italy and Switzerland, they happened, one day, to hear of a monastery
in the Swiss Alps that promised something outside of the ordinary