He brought a key out of his pocket. The little tag attached to it confirmed his story that this was the key to the back bedroom of 14.
We looked at each other in despair. "Are you sure you put Hellwig in 14?" Grant asked.
I nodded, and he sighed, pushing back his coarse brown hair.
"Well, I'll go see if I can get him out once."
We peeked through the slats of the Venetian blinds as Grant went across to 14 and knocked on the door. The door opened and after a few seconds of conversation he stepped inside and disappeared. Grandma rubbed the burn scars on her arms nervously, skirting around the newest, tender ones.
It wasn't long before Grant came back, escorting a pale, indignant Hellwig. An aura of mothballs entered the room with them.
"Fine nap I had," the old man spluttered. "A fine nap, with those--those hussies in the next room. Those baggages, those tarts, those--"
"Please," I murmured.
"Those girls were pretty mad," Grant said
"Mad because there was a man in their cabin?"