He went down the stairs in two jumps. He thrust his head into the concierge’s cavern.
“Who’s been to my room?” he shouted. He was still weak, but anger lent him strength.
“Tell me!” insisted Cartaret.
“How should I know?” the concierge countered.
“It’s your business to know. You’re responsible. Who’s come in and gone out since I went out?”
“Nobody.”
“There must have been somebody! Somebody has been to my room and stolen something.”
Thefts are not so far removed from the sphere of a concierge’s natural activities as unduly to excite him.
“To rob it is not necessary that one come in from without,” said he.