"Well, then, I'll take possession," she said. "You finish your cigar in peace; the landlord'll show me the way."
She hurried into the hall and rapped on a table till the proprietor appeared. He asked some question in German, but she could only shake her head and point up the stairs. Her meaning must have been clear, for he nodded and led the way with a lighted candle in his hand. There were two doors at the head of the stairs, and he opened the first. Looking over his shoulder, Sonia saw a bed without sheets or pillow-cases, and a jug standing upside down in the basin. The landlord closed the door with a muttered "Nein" and opened the one opposite. It was a room of the same size and character, but there were sheets on the bed and hot-water cans by the wash-hand stand. Two cabin trunks stood side by side under the window, their straps unloosed and hanging to the floor.
Sonia thanked the landlord and bade him good night. Left to herself, she inspected the lock, which seemed in order, removed her coat and hat—and tried to lift down Webster's trunk and drag it across the room. Her hand slipped as she tilted it off the chair, and there was a heavy thud, which reverberated through the silent house. She paused and listened. There was a footstep on the stairs and a subdued tapping at the door; then her name was called.
"You can come in, Fatty," she answered.
He entered quickly, yet with embarrassment, and stood at the door, smiling lop-sidedly.
"You're a bit of a liar, aren't you?" she suggested, as she bent once more over the trunk.
"Here, let me help!" he said, coming forward and seizing the handle. "Where d'you want this put?"
"In the next room—the room you're going to sleep in. Hurry up!"
Webster straightened his back and looked at her reproachfully.
"I say!—Sonia!" he protested.