They hurried down to the lobby. An iron door had been drawn across the entrance of the hotel. In the lobby the shooting seemed a bombardment of the building. A group of American and English correspondents were lounging in the heavy divans, drinking gin and talking to a trio of elaborately gowned women. The talk was in French.
"Hello, Dorn," one of the Englishmen called. Dorn approached the table, von Stinnes following, and whispering, "I will request the porter to open the gate."
"Baron von Stinnes, Mr. Reading."
The Englishman shook hands and smiled.
"I know the baron, Dorn. Rather old friends, what? Have a drink, damn it!"
"Later, if you please," von Stinnes bowed stiffly. Reading beckoned Dorn aside with an air of secrecy. Walking him to another part of the lobby he began whispering:
"I'd let that blighter alone if I were you, Dorn. I'm just telling you because you're rather new to these bloody swine."
Dorn nodded.
"I see," he said, and walked back to von Stinnes. Reading resumed his place with the party.
"Perhaps it was a timely warning," the baron murmured as Dorn drew near him. The gate had been opened and the two emerged. "I make a guess at what Reading told you," the baron pursued.