“But the desk-clerk said that he had asked you if it would be quite satisfactory to you giving it up to me, and you said yes. I come here every summer, when I’m not working, and I always have this room.”
“By Jove! I remember now. The chappie did say something to me about the room, but I was thinking of something else and it rather went over the top. So that’s what he was talking about, was it?”
Miss Silverton was frowning. A moving-picture director, scanning her face, would have perceived that she was registering disappointment.
“Nothing breaks right for me in this darned world,” she said, regretfully. “When I caught sight of your leg sticking out from under the bed, I did think that everything was all lined up for a real find and, at last, I could close my eyes and see the thing in the papers. On the front page, with photographs: ‘Plucky Actress Captures Burglar.’ Darn it!”
“Fearfully sorry, you know!”
“I just needed something like that. I’ve got a Press-agent, and I will say for him that he eats well and sleeps well and has just enough intelligence to cash his monthly cheque without forgetting what he went into the bank for, but outside of that you can take it from me he’s not one of the world’s workers! He’s about as much solid use to a girl with aspirations as a pain in the lower ribs. It’s three weeks since he got me into print at all, and then the brightest thing he could think up was that my favourite breakfast-fruit was an apple. Well, I ask you!”
“Rotten!” said Archie.
“I did think that for once my guardian angel had gone back to work and was doing something for me. ‘Stage Star and Midnight Marauder,’” murmured Miss Silverton, wistfully. “‘Footlight Favourite Foils Felon.’”
“Bit thick!” agreed Archie, sympathetically. “Well, you’ll probably be wanting to get to bed and all that sort of rot, so I may as well be popping, what! Cheerio!”
A sudden gleam came into Miss Silverton’s compelling eyes.