“You mean you think it was Ismay who broke into these rooms tonight?”
“You saw him, didn’t you? Man about my size, wasn’t he? Evening clothes? That’s his regulation uniform after dark. Beard and glasses—what?”
“I believe you’re right!” Staff rose excitedly. “I didn’t notice the glasses, but otherwise you’ve described him!”
“What did I tell you?” Iff helped himself to a cigarette. “By now the dirty dog’s probably raising heaven and hell to find out where Miss Searle has hidden herself.”
Staff began to pace nervously to and fro. “I wish,” he cried, “I knew where to find her!”
“Please,” Iff begged earnestly, “don’t let your sense of the obligations of a host interfere with your amusements; but if you’ll stop that Marathon long enough to find me a blanket, I’ll shed these rags and, by your good leave, curl up cunningly on yon divan.”
Staff paused, stared at the little man’s bland and guileless face, and shook his head helplessly, laughing.
“There’s no resisting your colossal gall,” he said, passing into the adjoining room to get bed-clothing for his guest.
“I admit it,” said Iff placidly.
As Staff returned, the telephone bell rang. In his surprise he paused with his arms full of sheets, blankets and pillows, and stared incredulously at his desk.