With tears in his eyes the keeper besought me to remove my dog forthwith.
In the circumstances, it seemed best to comply, so, wishing very much that Nobby could speak for himself, I tied my handkerchief to his collar and, with Susan chattering excitedly and clinging to my arm, followed our gibbering guide to the foot of the great staircase.
"He must have followed him in," cried Susan. "He simply must. I looked at the chimney, but it's stopped up, and the man says there's no other door. And you know he unlocked each one as we came to it this morning."
"But why's he so filthy?" I said. "And how did he fetch up here? Let's see. He must have come with us as far as Bouzom's. That's only five minutes from here. Then we forgot all about him and left him outside. We were there for ages. I suppose he got fed up with waiting or found a pal or something, and drifted down here. All the same…." I turned to the custodian and took out a fifty-franc note. "He doesn't usually pay so much for a room, but, as this isn't a hotel and he had Jeanne d'Albret's bed…."
The money passed in silence.
I fancy the keeper dared not trust himself to speak.
After all, I was very thankful that Nobby was found.
As we passed out of the gate, a sudden thought came to me, and I turned back.
"I say," I cried, "when last did you visit that room?"
"The Queen's room, Monsieur?"