THE UNOPENED LETTER The hall of the hotel had been cleared of people.

At the entrance from the corridor a porter barred the way.
"No one can pass," said he.
"I think that I can," said Hanaud, and he produced his card.

"From the Surete at Paris." He was allowed to enter, with Ricardo at his heels.

On the ground lay Marthe Gobin; the manager of the hotel stood at her side; a doctor was on his knees.

Hanaud gave his card to the manager.
"You have sent word to the police ?" "Yes," said the manager.
"And the wound ?" asked Hanaud, kneeling on the ground beside the doctor.