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BOUT eight o'clock in the evening of the same day a motor-car deposited at the Hotel Monolith a gentleman whose weather-beaten and oil-stained motoring-cap and duster covered little clothing more than shirt and trousers and assorted oddly in the eyes of the desk-clerk with the rather meticulously turned-out guest known to him as Mr. Arthur Lawrence, and to the management of the hotel as Mr. Alan Law incognito.

Eventually persuaded, the clerk yielded up the key to Mr. Lawrence's suite of rooms together with two notes superscribed with the same nom de guerre.

The first proved to be a characteristic communication:

":—Thanks for the jail delivery. When I saw you snatched out of the North River this morning I was engaged in trailing a pale-faced villain in a motor-car; he was a bold, bad kidnapper; Rose was in his power, as we say in such cases. I sleuthed after 'em, even to the house of Seneca Trine. 160