The mountain of a man stared across Clement’s shoulder for a moment. In his usually placid eye there was a red light of rage. His hand, with fist clenching, lifted to the level of his ribs. He gulped. Without another sign he swung round and went with his surprising swiftness out of the lobby.
II
Clement Seadon went to his room with a certain geniality in his heart.
When making his reservation at the reception counter he had carefully studied the room bookings before his name. The clerk had said to him, “I’ll give you a nice room on the fifth floor, Mr. Seadon. A good room. Overlooks Dufferin Terrace and the river. One of the best rooms we’ve got.”
“I know it,” said Clement pleasantly. “Ripping view.... Have you anything on the same gallery as 359? I don’t mind if there isn’t a view.”
“Why, yes,” said the clerk, “I can give you 362. It’s round the corner, but it’s on the same floor and only three doors away. Same view, too. It’s an intercommunicating bathroom, but locked on your side, of course. You’ll like that room.”
Clement Seadon hastily scanned the names above his. Who had room 361—on the other side of his intercommunicating bathroom? His heart beat. He said,
“You’re right. I fancy I shall more than like room 362.”
The name against room 361 was “Adolf Neuburg.”
The Frontenac has two lifts. As Clement knew this brilliant hotel quite well, he could choose his lift with cunning and so could get into his room without being seen on the gallery in which Mr. Neuburg had his door.