'Give the young lady a chair inside,' he ordered. 'I will see Mr. Lavendale.'
She was ushered into a bedroom and a moment or two later she heard Lavendale announced. Then George returned, handed her some American papers and disappeared into the bathroom beyond. She rose to her feet as he closed the door. The sound of Lavendale's voice was muffled and inaudible. She glanced around the room. It was tastefully but very plainly furnished. There was nothing about on the mantelpiece or bureau likely to be of the slightest interest. Suddenly her heart gave a little jump. George came out of the bathroom with a coat upon his arm, threw open the bureau and searched there for something. As he stood there, a thin, black silk pocket-book slipped from the breast-pocket of the coat and fell unnoticed on to the carpet. A moment later he closed the bureau, laid the coat carefully out upon the bed and withdrew into the bathroom, closing the door. Suzanne held her breath for a single moment. Then she stole across the floor, seized the pocket-book, opened the bedroom door stealthily, and with a little gulp of relief passed out into the corridor. She ran up the stairs to her own room, gripping the pocket-book in her hand. Arrived there, she locked the door, took up the telephone and spoke to the hall-porter.
'Please don't let Mr. Lavendale go out,' she directed. 'When he comes downstairs send him up to my room—say that I wish to see him at once.'
She slipped the pocket-book into the bosom of her dress and waited. In a few minutes there was a ring at the bell. Lavendale stood outside.
'Come in at once,' she begged.
He hesitated, but she dragged him in.
'Do not be foolish!' she exclaimed. 'Shut the door. You have just left Mr. Kessner?'
'Yes,' he admitted.
'Why did you go there?'
'To see if you were getting yourself into any trouble,' he answered grimly.