CHAPTER XI

IN THE FOG “But, Smith,” I began, as my friend hurried me along the corridor, “you are not going to leave the box unguarded?” Nayland Smith tugged at my arm, and, glancing at him, I saw him frowningly shake his head. Utterly mystified, I nevertheless understood that for some reason he desired me to preserve silence for the present. Accordingly I said no more until the lift brought us down into the lobby and we had passed out from the New Louvre Hotel, crossed the busy thoroughfare and entered the buffet of an estab…