The steward reflected.
“Well, there’s 17, just along on the starboard side. That was empty this morning, but I rather fancy it’s been allotted to some one. Still, as the gentleman’s things aren’t in yet, and as gentlemen aren’t anything like so superstitious as ladies, I dare say he wouldn’t mind changing.”
I hailed the proposition gratefully, and the steward departed to obtain permission from the purser. He returned grinning.
“That’s all right, miss. We can go along.”
He led the way to 17. It was not quite as large as No. 13, but I found it eminently satisfactory.
“I’ll fetch your things right away, miss,” said the steward.
But at that moment, the man with the sinister face (as I had nicknamed him) appeared in the doorway.
“Excuse me,” he said, “but this cabin is reserved for the use of Sir Eustace Pedler.”
“That’s all right, sir,” explained the steward. “We’re fitting up No. 13 instead.”
“No, it was No. 17 I was to have.”