“This place is too noisy for me,” Cliff said to the waiter. “Aren’t there any smaller dining rooms, where it’s quiet?”
“Yes, sir,” said the waiter, “but they are usually reserved in advance — by private parties—”
“Where are they?” demanded Cliff.
The waiter pointed over his shoulder. Cliff saw a doorway draped with side curtains.
“I’m going over there,” said Cliff, rising from the table. “I guess I can find an empty room.”
The waiter followed him, protesting:
“There may be an empty one, sir,” he objected, “but we’ve got to keep them for parties. You’ll have to take it up with the manager sir—”
They had reached the curtained doorway. It led into a corridor that ran parallel with the doorway. There was a row of doors on the other side. Cliff stopped and thrust a crisp ten-dollar bill into the waiter’s hand.
“I want to be quiet, understand?” he said. “Fix me up in one of these rooms. I won’t be here all night. If anybody comes along that has the room reserved, I can get out. Understand?”
The waiter accepted the tip with a nod. He led Cliff down the corridor and stopped at a half-open door. He turned on a light.