"Yes. I've followed him on. What's the number of his room?"
"The office will know," replied the other.
"Well, just go to the office and get his key," said Mudd, "and send a messenger boy to No. 12, King Charles Street—that's our address—to tell Mrs. Jukes, the housekeeper, I won't be able to get back to-night maybe. Here's a shilling for him—but show me his room first."
Mudd carried conviction.
The hall porter went to the office.
"Key of Mr. Pettigrew's room," said he; "his servant has just come."
The superior damsel detached herself from book-keeping, looked up the number and gave the key.
Mudd took it and went up in the lift. He opened the door of the room and went in. The place had not been tidied, clothes lay everywhere.
Mudd, like a cat in a strange house, looked around. Then he shut the door.