"Three!" said Rockwell to the elevator man. Then to Merriam he whispered, "That was the Mayor! He's got away from Murray."
"Ask for your key," whispered Rockwell, as they stepped out.
For five protracted steps Merriam's mind struggled frantically after the room number. He had just grasped it (3-2-3!) when he perceived that his perturbation had been unnecessary.
For the floor clerk--a pretty blonde of about thirty--was looking at him with her sunniest smile.
"Your key, Senator?"
"Yes, please," he managed to say.
As she handed him the key her fingers lightly touched his for a second, and she said in a low tone, "The violets are lovely."
He saw that she was wearing a large bunch of those expensively modest flowers at her waist and understood that his cousin's extra-marital interests might not be limited to Madame Couteau.
He lingered just a moment and replied in a tone as low as her own, "They look lovely where they are now."
But an appalling difficulty loomed over him even as he murmured. For he did not know whether Room 323 lay to the right or the left, and if he should start in the wrong direction----