The Yellow Crayon | Page 6

be a person with some powers of observation. It would pay you very well indeed if you would ascertain from any of your mates at the Waldorf when and with whom the lady in question left that hotel."
"I'll have a try, sir," the man answered. "The Duchess was better known here, but some of them may have recognised her."
"She had no luggage, I presume?" Mr. Sabin asked.
"Her dressing-case and jewel-case only, sir."
"So you see," Mr. Sabin continued, "it is probable that she did not remain at the Waldorf for the night. Base your inquiries on that supposition."
"Very good, sir."
"From your manners and speech," Mr. Sabin said, raising his head, "I should take you to be an Englishman."
"Quite correct, sir," the man answered. "I drove a hansom in London for eight years."
"You will understand me then," Mr. Sabin continued, "when I say that I have no great confidence in the police of this country. I do not wish to be blackmailed or bullied. I would ask you, therefore, to make your inquiries with discretion."
"I'll be careful, sir," the man answered.
Mr. Sabin handed to each of them a roll of notes. The cabdriver lingered upon the threshold. Mr. Sabin looked up.
"Well?"
"Could I speak a word to you-in private, sir?"
Mr. Sabin motioned Duson to leave the room. The baggage porter had already departed.
"When I cleaned out my cab at night, sir, I found this. I didn't reckon it was of any consequence at first, but from the questions you have been asking it may be useful to you."
Mr. Sabin took the half-sheet of note-paper in silence. It was the ordinary stationery of the Waldorf Astoria Hotel, and the following words were written upon it in a faint delicate handwriting, but in yellow pencil:-
"Sept. 10th. "To LUCILLE, Duchesse de SOUSPENNIER.-
"You will be at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel in the main corridor at four o'clock this afternoon."
The thin paper shook in Mr. Sabin's fingers. There was no signature, but he fancied that the handwriting was not wholly unfamiliar to him. He looked slowly up towards the cabman.
"I am much obliged to you," he said. "This is of interest to me."
He stretched out his hand to the little wad of notes which Duson had left upon the table, but the cabdriver backed away.
"Beg pardon, sir," he said. "You've given me plenty. The letter's of no value to me. I came very near tearing it up, but for the peculiar colour pencil it's written with. Kinder took my fancy, sir."
"The letter is of value," Mr. Sabin said. "It tells me much more than I hoped to discover. It is our good fortune."
The man accepted the little roll of bills and departed. Mr. Sabin touched the bell.
"Duson, what time is it?"
"Nearly midnight, sir!"
"I will go to bed!"
"Very good, sir!"
"Mix me a sleeping draught, Duson. I need rest. See that I am not disturbed until ten o'clock to-morrow morning.

CHAPTER III
At precisely ten o'clock on the following morning Duson brought chocolate, which he had prepared himself, and some dry toast to his master's bedside. Upon the tray was a single letter. Mr. Sabin sat up in bed and tore open the envelope. The following words were written upon a sheet of the Holland House notepaper in the same peculiar coloured crayon.
"The first warning addressed to you yesterday was a friendly one. Profit by it. Go back to Lenox. You are only exposing yourself to danger and the person you seek to discomfort. Wait there, and some one shall come to you shortly who will explain what has happened, and the necessity for it."
Mr. Sabin smiled, a slow contemplative smile. He sipped his chocolate and lit a cigarette.
"Our friends, then," he said softly, "do not care about pursuit and inquiries. It is ridiculous to suppose that their warning is given out of any consideration to me. Duson!"
"Yes, sir!"
"My bath. I shall rise now."
Mr. Sabin made his toilet with something of the same deliberation which characterised all his movements. Then he descended into the hall, bought a newspaper, and from a convenient easy-chair kept a close observation upon every one who passed to and fro for about an hour. Later on he ordered a carriage, and made several calls down town.
At a few minutes past twelve he entered the bar of the Fifth Avenue Hotel, and ordering a drink sat down at one of the small tables. The room was full, but Mr. Sabin's attention was directed solely to one group of men who stood a short distance away before the counter drinking champagne. The central person of the group was a big man, with an unusually large neck, a fat pale face, a brown moustache tinged with grey, and a voice and laugh like a fog-horn. It was he apparently who was paying for the champagne, and he was clearly on