I asked for a further description of her companion, and decided that it was Jules Jeanjean.
"Is the hotel detective about?" I asked.
"Yes. He's somewhere down on the smoking-room floor. Do you want him?" he asked, surprised.
I replied in the affirmative. Whereupon a page was at once dispatched, and returned with an insignificant-looking man, an ex-sergeant of Scotland Yard, engaged by the hotel as its private inquiry agent.
He knew me well, therefore I said—
"Will you come up with me to 139a. I want to see a Mr. Vernon, and there may be a little trouble. I may have to call in the police."
"What's the trouble, sir?" he asked in surprise, though he knew me to be an investigator of crime.
"Only a little difference between us," I said. "He may have a revolver. Have you got one?"
The detective smiled, and produced a serviceable-looking Colt from his hip-pocket, while I drew a long, plated, hammerless Smith & Wesson, which has been my constant companion throughout my adventurous life.
Then together we ascended in the lift, and passed along the corridor till we found the room which the clerk had indicated.