Exit a Dictator by E. Phillips Oppenheim

So into the streets again and another taxi, this time soon threading its way through a denser traffic into the business quarter of the city. Alexander sat with folded arms and a slight contraction of his eyebrows. He noticed very little of the thoroughfares through which he passed. Before his eyes all the while was that pink half-sheet of notepaper, the word "BELOVED", the blot at the bottom of the page, and that little memorandum book of code messages to be used only in times of danger, which Anna had thrust into his hands some hours before. The taxicab, after what seemed to be an interminable drive, pulled up half-way down a busy narrow street in the northern part of the city. There were warehouses on either side, heavy motor vans seemed to form a continual chain delivering and receiving bales of merchandise. The building before which Alexander descended and, after a casual glance around, entered, announced itself as a restaurant and hotel for commercial travellers, but on the right there were doors, on one of which was a small brass plate inscribed with the name: "AMBROSE STORNAWAY--Leather and Skins."

Alexander opened the door, which automatically rang a bell, and stepped into a warehouse of considerable size. The place was stacked almost to the ceiling with bales of goatskins. At the further end was a counting-house. From it issued the person whom Alexander had last seen, a well-groomed, somewhat supercilious young man about town, at a luncheon party at the Ritz. He wore over his clothes a linen duster, and a pair of heavy spectacles shielded his eyes. He seemed thinner and gaunter than ever and as he removed his spectacles to greet his visitor he disclosed sunken, feverish-looking eyes and features which seemed as though they had been ravaged by some disease.