“Which hotel?”
“The Imperial.” I remembered the name of a place where I once had lunch.
“Are you staying there?”
“I am not going back.”
“How long were you there?”
“Not more than an hour or two.”
“Where were you before?”
My local geography not being strong enough to stand a fusillade of this kind, I threw up an earthwork of anger.
“Look here, do you want me to give you a history of my tour with all particulars of my hotel bills since I left London?”
“Ah, you refuse to answer,” he said again, stolidly regarding me with a gloomy stare of suspicion.