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"Those are my clothes!" he exclaimed. "No one knew I was coming here—I didn't know myself—I don't even now know the name of the hotel. They were tumbled into a van on a refugee train which I left at the frontier. How did they get here?"

The hotel clerk continued to smile. He also shrugged his shoulders.

"Monsieur has, perhaps, friends whom he has forgotten," he suggested. "The luggage was delivered this afternoon. The porter compared the name upon the label with your entry in the hotel register and brought them here while you were in your bath."

Haven turned to Alexis.

"Do you understand anything about this?" he demanded.

"I do not understand it at all," the man admitted uneasily. "It is not good," he added, "for too many people to know of the master's arrival here."

Haven resumed his seat in the chair and the barber his ministrations. The hotel clerk took courteous leave and the valet disappeared into the bathroom. Haven looked up at his coiffeur.

"Do you speak English?" he enquired.

The man shook his head. Haven glanced at Alexis—a silent, thoughtful figure, standing in the background.