The light was on, and he entered. The room was empty. He stood a moment, quivering. Then voices from the dressing-room came to him quietly and at intervals.
He stood still, with head down, listening.
The Captain was speaking softly, insistently.
Ruth was dumb. Ernie thought she was crying.
Then he heard her voice, panting and very low,
"A-done, sir, do!"
In a moment Ernie was in eruption.
He flung against the door and tore rabidly at the handle. There was no answer from within. Ernie brought his fist down upon a panel with a left-handed punch that seemed to shake the Hotel.
"Telegram, sir!" he called in stentorian tones, threw the flimsy envelope on to the bed, and was gone.
Next morning the Captain was up early.