"Let me stay here," he begged, "if it's only an attic. There may be work to be done. Let me stay, sir. My little bit of life is of no more account to me than a snap of the fingers. Don't send me away. Julia's a woman—they won't hurt her. She can go back to her old rooms. The streets are quite orderly. Let me stay, sir!"
"No one seemed to notice us come in," Julia pleaded. "Let me stay, too. You heard what the porter said—we could choose what rooms we liked. It is safer in this part of London than in the East End, and you know," she added, looking at him steadily, "that if there is trouble to come, I have no fear."
Maraton hesitated. Perhaps they were as well where they were, under shelter. He nodded.
"Very well," he agreed. "There seems to be no one to show us about. We will go and select rooms."
In the hall they passed a man in the livery of the hotel. Maraton enquired the way to the telephone, but he only shook his head.
"Telephone isn't working, sir," he announced, "not to private subscribers, at any rate. They haven't answered a call for two days."
"Are any meals being served in the restaurant?" Maraton asked.
The man shook his head.
"Not regular meals, sir," he replied. "What food we've got is all locked up. You can get something between eight and nine. We close the hotel doors then."
"They tell me I can select any room I like upstairs that isn't occupied," Maraton remarked.