Pamela was disposed to argue, but a moment's reflection induced her to change her mind. This falsehood of Nikasti's was at least interesting. She waved the hotel servants away.
"I am sorry to have troubled you," she said. "I will remember it when I pay my bill."
They took their leave, Nikasti showing them out. When the last had departed, he turned back to the centre table, from the other side of which Pamela was watching him curiously.
"I cannot imagine," she remarked, "how I could have made such a mistake about the door. I tried it twice or three times and it certainly seemed to me to be locked."
Nikasti moved a step nearer towards her. Something of the servility of his manner had gone. For the first time she looked at him closely, appreciated the tense immobility of his features, the still, penetrating light of his cold eyes. A queer premonition of trouble for a moment unsteadied her.
"There was no mistake," he said softly. "The door was locked."
Even then she did not fully understand the position. She leaned a little towards him.
"It was locked?" she repeated.
"I locked it," he told her. "It is locked now, securely. I have been searching in your room for something which I did not find. I think that you had better give it to me. It will save trouble."
"Are you mad?" she demanded breathlessly.