"Your father wanted a quiet room, so we put him on the court," explained the manager of the Outlook Hotel, as he unlocked the door and turned on the electric lights.
It was a typical hotel room of the better class, with a brass bed, a bureau, a desk, and several chairs. At one side was a small bathroom.
On a chair rested Mr. Rover's suitcase, locked but unstrapped. On the bureau were his comb and brush, a whisk broom, and some other toilet articles. On some hooks hung a coat and a cap. They glanced into the bathroom, and in a cup on the marble washstand saw his toothbrush.
"He certainly meant to come back," murmured Tom.
"Yes, and that very soon—or else he wouldn't have left these things lying around," added his younger brother.
Dick passed over to the coat that hung on a hook and felt in the pockets. They contained nothing but some railroad timetables.
"Can't you call up some of your father's business friends or acquaintances?" suggested the hotel manager.
"He had very few acquaintances in the city," answered Dick. "He used to have some close friends, but they are either dead or have moved away. As for the business men he had dealings
