"Stop at the Priscilla Alden Hotel," I directed my chauffeur; and it was only when Teano spoke of "Nella" that I recalled the sister employed there. I had seen Nella's photograph at Paul's rooms, taken with her fiancé, Maurice Morosini, and had pleased Teano with praise of the girl's beauty. Morosini, too, was of an interesting type. I was sorry to hear from the detective that he had been ordered to join the colours, and would sail at dawn for Naples.
"The worst thing is," Teano went on, as we sped toward New York, "that those two can't even bid each other good-bye. Anywhere but at the Priscilla Alden, Morosini might walk into the hotel, take the elevator and go to her floor for a word."
As Teano talked a pain behind my eyes began to run through my temples, and into the back of my neck to the spine.
Something queer was the matter. I was conscious that Teano was asking alarmed questions, and that Nickey was staring. I was thankful that we had got to New York before the attack overwhelmed me, for I must leave the letter at the Priscilla Alden. As the motor slowed down in front of the hotel I remember pushing Teano aside and stumbling out of the car, the letter in my hand. I wasn't even aware of dropping the envelope addressed to Miss Gibson. Only Nickey, peering from the depths of the car, saw the fall, and would have darted to retrieve it, had not a man grabbed the letter as it touched the pavement. Teano was occupied with me, and so it seems was Maurice Morosini, who had been wandering up and down before the hotel, in the hope that Nella might come out. He sprang to help Paul, and there was no one for Nickey to tell, in his queer way, by gestures and rough sketches on a slate, what had happened. Afterward the detective did learn in this fashion that the man who picked up the letter was a chauffeur from a car following us, which had stopped when we stopped. But then it was too late for the knowledge to be useful.
Despite protests from the doorman, Teano and Morosini half carried, half dragged me into the hotel. Once inside, they suggested that it would be inhuman not to give me shelter; they made great play with my name and title, and threatened reprisals if I should be turned out.
"I suppose under the circumstances we'll have to give his lordship a room and get a doctor in," groaned the manager. "But it's against rules. However, we'll smuggle Lord John up to the thirteenth floor, where there's a small room vacant."
It's an ill wind that blows nobody good, and Morosini must have praised the saints for my illness when he found it giving him the chance he would have bought with half a year of life. He was going to the thirteenth floor of the sacred Priscilla Alden; and on that floor was Nella Teano!
One glance he threw at Paul across my head, as the two helped me out of the lift, and then his heart bounded with great joy, for close by was the telephone window.
"The only room disengaged to-night is farther down the corridor," the manager explained. "I wish we could spare this one just opposite, but there's a lady coming into it later," and he threw a regretful glance at a door barred by a chambermaid, her arms full of linen and towels. She had been getting ready Number 1313 for its next occupant, but in her surprise dropped a wad of sheets and pillow-cases. Stooping to pick them up, a sharp word from the manager sent her flying; and Morosini noticed that she had forgotten to take her pass-key from the lock.
I had revived enough to walk mechanically, like a man in a dream, without support, so Morosini left me to the guidance of Teano and the manager, and ran back to the lighted window which framed his adored one. She sprang to her feet as Morosini held out his arms.