V
Both Heloise and the companion had gone up to their rooms, a prey to emotions. Heloise’s emotion was not altogether unpleasant. She was agitated at the prospect of an intimate talk with Clement Seadon on the morrow; but, like all people who trample on their feelings in order to bolster up their pride, she felt relief that this condition of chilly aloofness between them was coming to an end. As Méduse Smythe had told Mr. Neuburg, Heloise did not know exactly what her feelings were towards Clement Seadon, but she did know enough to realize that a renewal of their old companionship would be an extraordinarily pleasant thing.
Méduse Smythe’s agitation was of a different order. There was fear in it. She had received an imperative message from one of the conspirators; he wanted to see her in the hotel lobby. That fact in itself was disturbing. She hurried swiftly to the lobby—and there was no Joe. Nobody was there wanting her. What did it mean? Had Joe been frightened away? Or—or was it some ruse? She was puzzled, scared. She felt that her own wits were not capable of dealing with this matter.
She left Heloise, grappling with the feminine complications of preparing for a walk, in her room, passed swiftly across her own. She slipped ajar her door of the bathroom that led to Mr. Neuburg’s room, and scratched stealthily on the inner door. That was the signal. She repeated it several times. It was not answered. Mr. Neuburg was not in his room. She half expected that; that might be the reason why Joe had sent in to her. She closed her own of these double bathroom doors, and her anxiety was increased. She must see and speak with Mr. Neuburg. It might be a matter that did not brook of delay. Her agitation developed steadily until both ladies got down to the lobby again, then, with a gasp of relief, she said, “Oh, there’s Mr. Neuburg.... Do you mind, Loise; I do want to speak to him about something before it slips out of my memory?”
She went across to Mr. Neuburg, who rose from his chair and bowed with all the affability of a mere acquaintance. She said, in quite an ordinary voice, as though discussing the weather, “I am going to give you a slip of paper. It seems important. Can you take it from me without being seen?”
Mr. Neuburg, with all the charm of a genial man of the world, and all the acuteness of a master rogue, bowed at once, led her to the magazine counter to the right of the lobby. “My dear Méduse, as I select a guide book for you, lean across me to reach those post cards, then you can drop your paper.”
The call form that was supposed to have come from the man Joe was dropped. Mr. Neuburg picked it up with a guide book. He read it. He opened the guide book, as though in search for some locality, pointed to a page with his fat finger, and said, “When did you get this, Méduse?”
“It was brought to me by a page, just after I had sat down to lunch.”
“Ha—and you went out at once, and Joe—he was not there, of course. He would not be there. This is a thing he would not do.”
“He was not there,” said Méduse.
“And when you came back from this false call—how was the girl?”
“She was alone—as I left her. She seemed the same.”
“She said nothing to you—about anybody speaking to her, I mean?”
“Nothing at all.”
“And the Englishman—did you see him in the dining room?”
“No—I did not see him. But then I did not look very keenly. Surely the Englishman does not know about Joe?”
“Somebody knows about Joe,” said Mr. Neuburg. “Somebody knows so much about Joe that he recognized that the name was enough to get you away from Miss Heloise into the lobby at a run. Who do you think would pull off a trick like that, my mild Méduse?”
“But the Englishman cannot know about Joe,” said the woman sullenly.
“Certainly this is your day for being triumphantly dull, my dear. This Englishman has bewitched you.”
“But how could he know about Joe?”
“Ah, my mild one, that is a thing that even I cannot tell you without finding out. It is to be found out. Now go back to the girl with this guide book, tell her the pleasant Mr. Neuburg has recommended it as the best of its kind—and remember that if your brain has turned into wool, you have the support of mine, which is particularly acute. That may restore and stimulate your wits.”
When the two ladies had gone out Mr. Neuburg sat and smoked and considered this unexpected happening deeply. His was a quite exceptional brain, and he had mastery over his thoughts and his memories. It was while he was going over his memories that the smoke of his cigar suddenly ceased to puff. That was the only sign exhibited by his impressive, placid and genial bulk.
At once he rose indolently, walked across the lobby to the reception desk. He asked in his affable way if he could see the room bookings. He looked through them. He stopped when he came to the name “Clement Seadon.” He stopped with reason, for he saw that Clement’s room was next his own. He stared at that number for a moment, said “Thank you” very politely to the reception clerk, and mounted to the gallery on which his room stood.
He went not merely to his own room but walked round the corner of the gallery to the door of Clement Seadon’s room. As he stood there regarding it contemplatively, the chambermaid passed by. He looked at her, or rather across her shoulder, with that smile which was quite charming, but had not the slightest tinge of human emotion in it, and he said, “There is, I think, a blind in that room which is making noises in the wind. It destroys my nap. I have knocked on the door, but the occupant of the room is not there apparently. Would it be asking you too much to go in and pull up that blind, so that I can have my beauty sleep undisturbed?”
He backed his appeal with the weight of a half-dollar piece.
The girl smiled and opened the door. With a polite, “Thanks enormously,” Mr. Neuburg slipped away from her with his extraordinary swiftness. He went into his own room. He opened his one of the double doors between his room and Clement Seadon’s bathroom. He listened at the other door. He did not hear as well as Clement had heard, for the bathroom was between him and the Englishman’s room. But he heard. He heard the movements of the chambermaid, heard her rattling at the windows.
When the chambermaid came round the corner of the gallery to ask if it was all right now, he was at his door beaming—but this time, perhaps, with a more natural good humor.
“Yes, that is satisfactory, very satisfactory.”
And indeed he thought it was.