He was very angry when he found out why I had awakened him; perhaps the sight of my bandaged head restrained him from violence.
“Look here,” he said, “I’ve been up all night, and you might as well know it. If you hit me again—” He hesitated, stared around, yawned, and rubbed his eyes.
“You’re right,” he said, “I must get up.”
He stumbled to the floor, bathed, grumbling all the while, and then, to my surprise, walked over to a flat trunk which stood under the window and which I recognized as mine. 307
“I’ll borrow some underwear,” he remarked, viciously.
“What’s my trunk doing here?” I demanded.
“Madame de Vassart had them bring it.”
“Had who bring it?”
“Horan and McCadger—before they left.”
“Before they left? Have they gone?”