"Mr. Hallilay," said Daphne, twittering, "I can't bear it. Why are we here?"
The boy looked at her curiously. Then—
"Well," he said, "there was no other place. Even if the Grand had been open, I gather it's hardly fit…. Of course there's been the most awful mix-up. Trust Spain for that. The Post Office knew they couldn't deliver the wire. Instead of telling somebody, or communicating with Pau, they let it lie in the office till this afternoon. Then they took it to the mayor. Of course he nearly died. But, being a man of action, he got a move on. He flew round here and laid the facts before the steward—the owner happens to be away—and arranged to put this house at your disposal. Then he rushed round, borrowed a couple of cars, and spent what time he had left splitting his brain over your wire and hovering between the station and the various approaches to Pampeluna. As an inevitable result, he missed you, and when he finally had the brain-wave of inquiring at the Grand and found you'd already arrived, he nearly shot himself."
"But why—I mean," I stammered, "it's devilish good of the mayor and you and everyone, but why—in the first place, why did the Post Office take the wire to the mayor?"
Hallilay raised his eyebrows.
"Well," he said slowly, "when they saw the telegram, they realised——"
"Who sent the wire?" said Berry.
"I did," said Jonah. "I said,
Retenez lundi soir, deux grandes deux petites chambres avec salle de bain en suite, arrive en auto.