"And, sir, let me tell you that I am right!" boomed the fat man in a growling bass.
"I'll get my map and prove what I say!" cried Mr. Pendleton, springing from his chair, and starting toward the hall.
The big man's laugh made him increase his speed. The other guests were amused, but they were not prepared for the next thing that happened.
Old Mr. Pendleton came tearing down the stairs, at the risk of breaking his neck, his cheeks flushed, and his small, black eyes blazing.
"It's an outrage! It's disgusting! It's not to be endured!" he shouted. "My room has been entered, and my belongings tossed about! My pajamas are spread out on the floor as if someone meant to take a pattern of them! My watch is soaking in the wash bowl, and my brush and comb are each in a slipper. My topcoat is out of the window and sprawling in the sun on the roof of this piazza, and every neck-tie I own is hanging from the chandelier! I won't stand it!"
He paused for breath, and the woman whom he had vexed a few days before, was so unwise as to speak:
"It might be well for you to realize just now that women are not the only ones who are upset when their finery is tossed about. As nothing was stolen, why complain? Why get excited?"
"Madam! You haven't the least idea of tact," he cried. "If you had you'd——" but before he could complete his speech, the proprietor arrived, and a much harder task he had to appease the wrath of Mr. Pendleton, than that of the fat woman whose room had been entered a few days before.
The mystery might never have been solved but for something that occurred on the following morning.
A room on the second floor had windows looking out upon the sea. The door stood open, and a maid passing along the hall, paused to look in. Guests were not in the habit of leaving their room doors wide open. What she saw made her tip-toe softly away to a screen in the hall.