In the room the mist thinned swiftly; the four men could now see one another. But Tressa was no longer in the room. And in place of the white shroud a piece of filthy tattered carpet lay on the floor. And a dead rat, flattened out, dry and dusty, lay upon it.
“For God’s sake,” whispered Recklow hoarsely, “let us get out of this!”
Cleves, his pistol clutched convulsively, stared at him in terror. But Recklow took him by the arm and drew him away, muttering that Tressa was waiting for him, and might be ill, and that there was nothing further to expect in this ghastly spot.
They went with Cleves to the Ritz. At the desk the clerk said that Mrs. Cleves had the keys and was in her apartment.
The three men entered the corridor with him; watched him try the door; saw him open it; lingered a moment after it had closed; heard the key turn.
At the sound of the door closing the maid came.
“Madame is asleep in her room,” she whispered.
“When did she come in?”
“More than two hours ago, sir. I have drawn her bath, but when I opened the door a few moments ago, Madame was still asleep.”