The manager shook his head. “I cannot say such a thing. It is not true.”
Quentin got to his feet. “Then I’ll see her,” he said. “I’m not taking the responsibility of her being here if things get hot. She can take a car out of town and the sooner she’s out the better.” He went to the door. “What room is she in?”
Anita’s eyes opened. “But, senor, she is in bed. You cannot go to her.”
Morecombre got to his feet hurriedly. “Just a minute, pal,” he said. “This sounds like a job for a man of the world. Just step on one side and let me handle it.”
Quentin eyed him coldly. “Sit down and shut up! What room is she in?”
Anita told him, looking furiously at Morecombre, and Quentin went out, crossed the corridor and knocked sharply on the door indicated. He heard someone say something inaudible, so he turned the handle and went in.
Standing by the open windows, looking on to the hotel grounds, was a tall girl, dressed in a white silk evening wrap. She turned sharply as Quentin entered. “What do you want?” she asked.
Quentin regarded her with interest. He was more interested in her expression than her actual beauty. He was curious about the hurt, sullen look in her eyes and the little frown that increased as their eyes met.
“I’m sorry to come barging in like this,” he said, standing just inside the room, holding the door handle, “but I thought you ought to be told that this hotel is not the place for any unattached girl. There is going to be a bad disturbance—”
She interrupted him. “I don’t know who you are,” she said, “but the maid has already told me that I ought to go. This is a hotel, and I intend to stay. Anyway, for the time being.” She turned back to the window, dismissing him.