"You can bet your sweet life I'd of been somewhere else, if I'd knowed you was around, chum! Why not tackle a guy your own size?"
Drayton burst out laughing, and after a moment Terence joined him.
The man on the bed could hardly have been over five feet in height, but what he lacked in length was made up in rotundity. His round face was smooth-shaven and wore an expression of abused innocence which would have done credit to an injured cherub. Though disheveled, the captive's dark-green suit was of good material and irreproachable cut. Socks and tie matched it in color. His one false color note was the glaring yellow of a large identification button, pinned duly beneath the left shoulder, and the too-brilliant tan of his broad-soled Oxfords.
"I say," repeated Trenmore, "what are you doing in my room? Or did you but come here to break the cut-glass carafe, and the noise of it betrayed you?"
"I came here-" The man on the bed hesitated, but only for a moment. "I came here," he announced with great dignity, "because I believed this to be my own room, sir. The numbers in this corridor are confusing! I shall speak to the management in the morning. If I have disturbed you, I'm sorry."
The little fellow had assumed a quaint dignity of manner and phraseology which for a moment took them all aback. Then Trenmore walked over to the outer door and tried it. The door was locked.
"And how's this?" demanded Terence, his blue eyes twinkling.
"I-er-locked it, sir, when I entered."
"Yes? And have you the key, then?"
The man made a pretense of searching his pockets; then smiled wryly and threw up his hands.