CHAPTER FOUR“Good afternoon sir,” said John, rising to his feet.
The stranger’s response was to glare at him as though the greeting was a form of impertinence. He seemed to bristle, giving the impression that nobody should speak to him without being spoken to first.
And then he demanded,
“Where is the owner of this place?”
“He is not here,” John informed him. “I am the manager.”
“I want to see the owner. Old fellow. Name of Dale.”
Now John knew that this was the man Miss Smith was fleeing. She too had asked for old Mr. Dale.
“Unfortunately Mr. Dale is no longer with us,” he said.
“Then where is he?” the man bawled. “That is what I want to know. Are you stupid?”
“I hope not sir. I meant only that Mr. Dale is dead. His son now owns this hotel and he is in London. As I am the manager
