It might not lead
to anything, to be sure, but still it was an encouragement, and
seemed to augur well for his ultimate success.
He went with his discovery to his friend the clerk.
"Were you here in June, 1879, Mr. Lawrence?" he asked.
"Yes. I came here in April of that year."
"Of course, you could hardly be expected to remember a
casual guest?"
"I am afraid not. What is his name?"
"James Harding."
"James Harding! Yes, I do remember him, and for a very
good reason. He took a very severe cold on the way from New
York, and he lay here in the hotel sick for two weeks. He was
an elderly man, about fifty-five, I should suppose."
"That answers to the description given me. Do you know
where he went to from here?"
"There you have me. I can't give you any information on
that point."
Luke began to think that his discovery would lead to nothing.
"Stay, though," said the clerk, after a moment's thought.
"I remember picking up a small diary in Mr. Harding's room after
he left us. I didn't think it of sufficient value to forward
to him, nor indeed did I know exactly where to send."
"Can you show me the diary?" asked Luke, hopefully.
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