Jacques Futrelle

“ John Smith, alias Watts Ittooyu, was W. Mandeville Clarke. He was big enough, the rugged lines on his face made him look old enough, he kept clean shaven with the most scrupulous care, and his dingy black hair bore every indication of having been newly dyed—badly dyed. But why should W. Mandeville Clarke set himself to search the hotels of Paris for W. Mandeville Clarke? Why, when confronted the second time by one of M. Remi’s assistants, did he give that strange name, Watts Ittooyu? And that strange address—the corner of the United States and two o’clock? ”

“ Smith planned to take the Arc de Triomphe as a center and revolve around it. At his first point of inquiry, the Hotel Carleton in the Champs Elysées, he encountered for the second time the veiled woman in black. She was standing at the desk with her back toward him as he entered, talking in French with the clerk in charge. She finished and started away.
“Do you speak English?” Mr. Smith began monotonously.
“Yes, Monsieur, I speak him quite well,” replied the clerk.
“Do you happen to have with you a man known as W. Mandevilie Clarke?” ”

“ Again the clerk glanced at the young woman, who, with fingers writhing within themselves, stood motionless half a dozen feet away.
“No, Monsieur,” replied the clerk at last. “We have them wider and shorter, and longer and thinner ”