II
Clement Seadon went to his room with a certain geniality in his heart.
When making his reservation at the reception counter he had carefully studied the room bookings before his name. The clerk had said to him, “I’ll give you a nice room on the fifth floor, Mr. Seadon. A good room. Overlooks Dufferin Terrace and the river. One of the best rooms we’ve got.”
“I know it,” said Clement pleasantly. “Ripping view.... Have you anything on the same gallery as 359? I don’t mind if there isn’t a view.”
“Why, yes,” said the clerk, “I can give you 362. It’s round the corner, but it’s on the same floor and only three doors away. Same view, too. It’s an intercommunicating bathroom, but locked on your side, of course. You’ll like that room.”
Clement Seadon hastily scanned the names above his. Who had room 361—on the other side of his intercommunicating bathroom? His heart beat. He said,
“You’re right. I fancy I shall more than like room 362.”
The name against room 361 was “Adolf Neuburg.”
The Frontenac has two lifts. As Clement knew this brilliant hotel quite well, he could choose his lift with cunning and so could get into his room without being seen on the gallery in which Mr. Neuburg had his door.
There was a matter for further satisfaction, and also, it must be said, for a certain anxiety in this business of rooms. He had had luck in getting a room next Mr. Neuburg’s. His choice of the gallery itself had been deliberate. Heloise Reys had her room on that gallery.
He had looked for her name at once, before he had sought out the name attached to room 361. He had seen that the room booked to Heloise Reys was 359. The room booked to Méduse Smythe, the companion, was 360—it was to be expected. They had rooms together—probably also with a communicating bathroom. It was only when he had discovered Mr. Neuburg’s room that a feeling of anxiety crept into his thoughts. For, obviously, Mr. Neuburg had the room next Méduse Smythe. The gang had deliberately arranged to group themselves—and their victim—together. It probably went without saying that Méduse, the Gorgon, and Mr. Neuburg also had a communicating bathroom. They were all in rooms in line, the victim, Heloise, the gang, and himself.
Clement went quickly to his room, left the door ajar, so that he would not have to call out when the baggage man brought his baggage up—to call out loud would be to warn Mr. Neuburg—and went very quietly into his own bathroom. He felt the handle of his own internal door, found it bolted, slipped the bolt, and carefully opened it. The door of Mr. Neuburg’s room (there were double doors separating the rooms) was shut, and it was probably bolted; anyhow, Clement was not going to attract attention by trying the handle. What mattered was that there was only a single thickness of door between him and the master villain. He could hear the mountain of a man moving about quietly inside his room. He heard him mutter an angry oath—probably directed at his own (Clement’s) head; then, luck of luck, he heard him use his telephone. It was of no importance. He was merely demanding his baggage from the porter, but it gave Clement the knowledge that, unless Mr. Neuburg whispered, it would be quite delightfully easy to overhear his conversations. Nothing more happened then, and Clement closed his own door again—and bolted it—as he heard the baggage man’s trolley coming along the passage.
Only when that fellow had gone did he bolt his outer door, slip into the bathroom, and wait for a conversation he thought was bound to come. Mr. Neuburg, he felt, must open his bruised heart to the companion Méduse.
He had some time to wait, but he did not mind. He was feeling satisfied with events. He had these devils on the hip. There was no doubt of that. They had given him definite facts to put before Heloise. He could go straight to her now and tell her how the lawyer’s letter had been stolen from him in order that Méduse Smythe could work on her feelings, and how the rogues had endeavored to get him out of the way with the business of the tiara.
They were bold, were they? He was going to be bold, too. Heloise should have the cold facts without apology. He was more than certain how a clearly honest nature like hers would view the revelations. Neuburg was done, Méduse was done, Gunning was done—the plot was ended.
As he decided this in his mind, he heard a sound from the room beyond the door.
“Aah ... it is all right, Méduse? You are free.... You are alone for a few minutes?” ... A deep, slightly muffled voice said these words curiously close to Clement Seadon’s ear.
It was Mr. Neuburg speaking. The companion Méduse had come into the room on the other side of the bathroom door.