“Nonsense. The entire room is mine. Take the portmanteau out.”
The steward hesitated, looking from one to the other.
“The ticket is for 159, sir,” he said at last.
“Then there is some mistake. The room is mine. Don’t have me ask you again to remove the portmanteau.”
“Perhaps you would like to see the purser, sir.”
“I have nothing to do with the purser. Do as I tell you.”
All this time he had utterly ignored Buel, whose colour was rising. The young man said quietly to the steward, “Take out the portmanteau, please.”
When it was placed in the passage, Hodden entered the room, shut and bolted the door.
“Will you see the purser, sir?” said the steward in an awed whisper.
“I think so. There is doubtless some mistake, as he says.”