I enquired atmy hotel for that in which Charles Strickland was living. It was called theHotel des Belges. But the concierge, somewhat to my surprise, had never heardof it. I had understood from Mrs. Strickland that it was a large and sumptuousplace at the back of the Rue de Rivoli. We looked it out in the directory. Theonly hotel of that name was in the Rue des Moines. The quarter was notfashionable; it was not even respectable. I shook my head.

"I'm surethat's not it, " I said.

The conciergeshrugged his shoulders. There was no other hotel of that name in Paris. Itoccurred to me that Strickland had concealed his address, after all. In givinghis partner the one I knew he was perhaps playing a trick on him. I do not knowwhy I had an inkling that it would appeal to Strickland's sense of humour tobring a furious stockbroker over to Paris on a fool's errand to an ill-famed housein a mean street. Still, I thought I had better go and see. Next day about sixo'clock I took a cab to the Rue des Moines, but dismissed it at the corner,since I preferred to walk to the hotel and look at it before I went in. It wasa street of small shops subservient to the needs of poor people, and about themiddle of it, on the left as I walked down, was the Hotel des Belges. 

我在自己落脚的旅馆打听了一个查理斯·思特里克兰德住的地方。他住的那家旅馆名叫比利时旅馆。我很奇怪，看门人竟没听说过这个地方。我从思特里克兰德太太那里听说，这家旅馆很大、很阔气，坐落在利渥里路后边。我们查了一下旅馆商号指南。叫这个名字的旅馆只有一家，在摩纳路。这不是有钱人居住的地区，甚至不是一个体面的地方。我摇了摇头。

“绝对不是这一家。”我说。

看门人耸了耸肩膀。巴黎再没有另一家叫这个名字的旅馆了。我想起来，思特里克兰德本来是不想叫别人知道他行踪的。他给他的合股人这个地址也许是在同他开玩笑。不知道为什么，我暗想这很合思特里克兰德的幽默感，把一个怒气冲冲的证券交易人骗到巴黎一条下流街道上的很不名誉的房子里去，出尽洋相。虽然如此，我觉得我还是得去看一看。第二天六点钟左右我叫了一辆马车，到了摩纳街。我在街角上把车打发掉，我想我还是步行到旅馆，先在外面看看再进去。这一条街两旁都是为穷人开设的小店铺，路走了一半，在我拐进来的左面，就是比利时旅馆。