I followed them in, and stood over him. After a moment he rolled his head around and looked at me. I could see that he was puzzled.
“Where am I, Eckhart?” he asked.
“At the Hôtel de Chine.”
“The Hôtel de—That's where—”
“It is where I am stopping,” said I.
He whitened, and winced; whether in physical or mental pain I am unable to say.
“My leg is broken,” he observed, a little later.
I nodded.
“Who did it?”
“I did.”