“A friend of mine, yes,” said Harley absently, but his expression was very grim. “What time did he finally leave?”
“He waited until after eleven o'clock. The dinner is spoilt. He pays, but does not complain.”
“No,” said Harley musingly, “he had nothing to complain about. One more question, my friend. When the lady escaped hurriedly on Wednesday night, what was it that she left behind and what price are you trying to extort from her for returning it?”
At that the man collapsed entirely.
“Ah, Gott!” he cried, and raised his hand to his clammy forehead. “You will ruin me. I am a ruined man. I don't try to extort anything. I run an honest business———”
“And one of the most profitable in the world,” added Harley, “since the days of Thais to our own. Even at Bond Street rentals I assume that a house of assignation is a golden enterprise.”
“Ah!” groaned Meyer, “I am ruined, so what does it matter? I tell you everything. I know Mr. De Lana who engages my room regularly, but I don't know who the lady is who meets him here. No! I swear it! But always it is the same lady. When he falls I am downstairs in my office, and I hear him cry out. The lady comes running from the room and begs of me to get her away without being seen and to keep all mention of her out of the matter.”
“What did she pay you?” asked Harley.
“Pay me?” muttered Meyer, pulled up thus shortly in the midst of his statement.
“Pay you. Exactly. Don't argue; answer.”