As he awaited the elevator, he was approached by the bell-captain. "Mr. Forsyte?" Sextus nodded stiffly. "Here's an envelope Mr. Patterson left for you. He was the last G. M. Incidentally, sorry I was a little rough on the phone, but you can see our situation here. Understaffed and overcrowded. It gets thick, real thick, brother."
Sextus felt his belly muscles tighten. "Confusion is never improved by discourtesy or insubordination," he said coldly.
At that moment a bellman rushed up to the rebuffed captain who was regarding Sextus with a restrained loathing. "The guy in C332 keeps screaming for his beer, but the service elevator to 'C' vector keeps dumping me off in 'F'."
The captain said, "Try riding to fourth on 'C' and then walk down a deck and come out through the linen room."
"Can't I just ride up the guest elevator, Jack?"
The captain stared at Sextus. "Our Mr. Forsyte wouldn't approve. Now, move!"
He turned to Sextus and said acidly, "Just one of our little extra problems." He moved off with a disgusted shake of his carefully barbered head.
The nature of the bell-captain's special problem sounded interesting, but the details confused Sextus. Ride to four on "C", walk down to three and out by the linen closet. Sounded like three-dimensional chess.
His cage arrived and he returned to his suite. He removed his shoes, stripped to the waist and sank gratefully into the soft bed, nestling the last bottle of his suitcase reserve in the crook of his bare arm.
He considered the sealed envelope marked: TO MY SUCCESSOR. URGENT MATTERS.