"If you want to look for Jimmy," I said, "you'd better get out too. He'll be here if he's anywhere in Ghent."
But she was already on the kerb, brushing me aside. She had seen behind my back the approach of the concierge and she made for him.
"Is Mr. Jevons in this hotel—Mr. Tasker Jevons?"
Yes, Mr. Chevons was in the hotel. Madame would find him in the lounge.
She had swept past him to the stair of the lounge, and I was following her discreetly when the proprietor dashed out of his bureau to intercept us. The lounge, he said, was reserved from seven till nine o'clock for the officers of the General Staff.
Viola had paid no attention to the proprietor and was sweeping up the stair. I gave Jevons's name and explained that the lady was Mrs. Jevons.
The proprietor, a portly and pompous Belgian, positively dissolved in smiles and bows and apologetic gestures. Mille pardons, monsieur, mille pardons. It would be all right. Monsieur Chevons was dining with the officers of the General Staff.
He did not know that Madame was expected. He was to reserve a room for
Monsieur?
I told him to reserve rooms for me and the chauffeur, and to consult Mr.
Jevons about Madame. And I hurried up the stair after Viola.
She was waiting for me at the turn, on the landing, by the wide archway of the lounge, where the great glass screen began that shut off the staircase. She stood back from the entrance, looking in, and smiling at what she saw. It was clear by her attitude and her absorption that something was happening in there.