The night clerk looked surprised. “We sent them over on your instructions, sir.”
“My instructions? What do you mean?”
“The American gentleman, Mr. Van Ryn, who took the room for you, came here just before eight o’clock. He said you wished to transfer to the Regina, where your friends were staying. We were to pack for you and send over your things at once. He paid your bill. I hope we have done right, sir?”
Richard frowned. What in the world had bitten Rex? Still, there it was — he’d better go and find out. Absently he walked out into the street again.
At the Regina he was told that Mr. Van Ryn had booked a room for him, No. 447 — the night porter gave him the key.
What the devil had Rex been up to? thought Richard, as he walked over to the lift. If this was supposed to be a joke, it was in damned bad taste — 447 was next to Marie Lou. Richard walked angrily down the corridor. He supposed he’d better have his things moved again to another room.
He opened the door — yes, there were all his belongings, unpacked, too — what a fool Rex was. This sort of thing wasn’t like him, either.
The communicating-door to No. 448 stood a little open. Richard was tempted; here was an opportunity for a word with Marie Lou — he could explain that he was moving.
He looked into the bedroom. There she was, the darling, lying in bed. She made no movement; perhaps she was asleep? Only the light by the bed was still on. The orchids that he had given her that evening stood near it in a glass.
He tiptoed over to the side of the bed. Yes, she was asleep — how divinely pretty she looked with her long dark lashes lying on her cheeks. One lovely arm thrown back over her curly head; she lay quite still, breathing gently.