“Hello,” I said, and I felt a certain facility with words, not unlike the one imagined in my dream. “I’m calling about a bag I left behind.”

“I’d be happy to help you with that, sir,” said the young man. “You were a guest at the hotel?”

“Yes,” I said. How simple this was, I thought, what a breeze. I was a guest at the hotel. This is how an investigation is performed, no doubt about it.

“What were the dates of your stay?”

“I’m sorry?”

There was another pause. “The dates of your stay, sir?”

Suddenly all my triumphant thoughts came to a hasty halt.

“The dates of my stay,” I murmured, when too long a silence had elapsed. Of course, how could I have been so stupid?

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t remember them.”

There was a little silence on the other end—not impolite, but patient.

“I’m sorry,” I said again, making an effort to sound careless and blithe, although the palm I had pressed to the phone had grown unhelpfully damp. “It would have been in the last six months or so.”

Another little pause.

“I travel quite frequently,” I said unhappily.

“I see,” said the young man. Still he did not sound the least bit annoyed. I began to take heart; perhaps this was a normal occurrence.

“Perhaps it would be easier to look you up by name instead,” he said.

“Yes,” I said immediately. “Yes, of course. My name is…” and, surprised at how natural it felt, I spelled my father’s name.

“Thank you,” said the young man. “Just a moment.”

I heard the soft sound of the phone being put down on the desk. Then, more faintly, I heard the sound of music playing in the lobby, just as it had been on the night I’d walked through it with the guest lecturer. I pictured her waving coquettishly, with just the tips of her fingers, at the smooth-faced young man. How unfortunate that had been. I pictured the long bar with its row of candles and, on the far side of the room, the low white curving couches. Was the lobby empty now? I wiped the perspiration from my palm on the leg of my pants, and switched the phone to my other ear.

“Hello?” said the young man.

“Yes?” I said.

“Could the reservation have been made under another name, sir?”

Another name? I thought. Another name? Of course, it could have been, but if I knew it I would be considerably further along in my investigation than I was, or perhaps ever would be.

“No,” I said, trying to keep the disappointment from my voice. “I don’t think it could be.”

“I see,” said the man. “I’m sorry, but I don’t appear to have any record of your stay.”

I cleared my throat. “How odd. Well, it’s possible it’s been longer than six months…” I trailed off.