“They were all strangers to me; and to the hotel. I’ve been at this door for ten years, and never saw one of them before.”
“Can you recollect how any of them looked?”
“Yes; there was one who came often, and used to go out with the ladies. A thick-set gent with lightish hair, and round full face. Sometimes there was a thin-faced man along with him, a younger gent. They used to take the two young ladies a-ridin’—to Rotten Row; and I think to the Opera.”
“Did you learn their names?”
“No, sir. They used to go and come without giving a card; only the first time, and I didn’t notice what name was on it. They would ask if Mrs Girdwood was in, and then go upstairs to the suite of rooms occupied by the fambly. They ’peared to be intimate friends.”
Swinton saw he had got all the information the man was capable of imparting. He turned to go out, the hall-keeper obsequiously holding the door.
Another question occurred to him.
“Did Mrs Girdwood say anything about coming back here—to the hotel I mean?”
“I don’t know, sir. If you stop a minute I’ll ask.”
Another journey to the oracle inside; another negative response.