My bed, I supposed, was being turned down. I swung the door open, and
halted in my tracks. With his back to me, bent over a wide-open trunk
that I had left locked, was a man.
Stepping inside, I closed the door quietly, meanwhile scrutinizing my
unconscious visitor from head to foot. He wore no hotel insignia--was
neither porter, waiter, nor valet.
"Well, how about it? Anything there suit you?" I inquired affably, with
my back against the door.
Exclaiming gutturally, he whisked about and faced me where I stood quite
prepared for a rough-and-tumble. Instead of a typical housebreaker of
fiction, I saw a pale, rabbit-like, decent-appearing little soul. He
was neatly dressed; he seemed unarmed save for a great ring of assorted
keys; and his manner was as propitiatory and mild-eyed as that of any
mouse. There must be some mistake. He was some sober mechanic, not a
robber. But on the other hand, he looked ready to faint with fright.
"_Mein Gott_!" he murmured in a sort of fishlike gasp.
This illuminating remark was my first clue.
"Ah! _Mein Herr_ is German?" I inquired, not stirring from my place.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25