"If we continue talking and thinking about the dust, we shall all end in the madhouse! We are in a tight spot and must make the best of it. Before I for my part can believe that this is the year A.D. 2118, some one will need to explain how the Hotel Belleclaire has remained the Hotel Belleclaire two centuries, without the change of a button on a bell-hop's coat. But that can wait. I move that we spend what's left of the night in sleep. Perhaps"-he smiled grimly-"whichever one of us is dreaming this nightmare will wake up sane to-morrow, and we'll get out of it that way!"
CHAPTER 11: MINE AND COUNTERMINE
DREAMING or not, they all slept late the following morning, and would probably have slept much later had not Trenmore been roused shortly after nine by the house phone. After answering it, he awakened first Viola, then Drayton and Bertram.
"The foxy-faced gentleman-the one they name the Cleverest-he'll be calling on us it seems. Will you dress yourselves? This is a business that no doubt concerns us all."
Five minutes later, Terence emerged to find their tight-mouthed, cunning-eyed acquaintance awaiting him in their private parlor.
"'Tis a fine morning," greeted the Irishman cheerfully. After the few hours' rest, he had risen his usual optimistic, easy-going self, sure that A.D. 2118 was as good as any other year to live in. "Will you be seated, sir," he suggested, "and maybe have a bit of breakfast with the four of us?"
"Thank you, no. I have already eaten and shall only detain you a few minutes. Did I understand you to say there are four of you? I was informed of only three."
Trenmore's bushy brows rose in childlike surprise.
"Four," he corrected simply. "Myself and my sister, my friend Bobby Drayton and Mr. Arnold Bertram. Here they are all joining us now. Viola, my dear, this gentleman is Mr. Cleverest, and-"
The man checked him with upraised, deprecating hand.