Not a person spoke to me the whole of that day. Everyone avoided me in a most ostentatious manner: and everyone, or nearly everyone, had been so friendly. It was dreadful. If I had had enough money to pay the hotel bill, as well as the return-half of my ticket home, I believe I should have left Interlaken there and then. But the choice of whether I would go or stay, as it turned out, was not to be left to me.
Depressed, miserable, homesick, devoutly wishing that I had never left home, almost resolved that I would never leave it again, I was about to go up to my room to dress for what I very well knew would only be the ghastly farce of dinner, when, as I reached the lift, a waiter came up to me and said that the manager wished to see me in his office. I did not like the man’s manner; it is quite easy for a Swiss waiter to be rude, and I was on the point of telling him that at the moment I was engaged and that the manager would have to wait, when something which I thought I saw in his eye caused me to change my mind, and, with an indefinable sense of discomfort, I allowed him to show me to the managerial sanctum. I never had liked the look of that manager; I liked it less than ever when I found myself alone in his room with him. He was a youngish man, with a moustache, and hair parted mathematically in the centre. In general his bearing was too saccharine to be pleasant; he did not err in that respect just then – it was most offensive. He looked me up and down as if I were one of his employees who had done something wrong, and, without waiting for me to speak, he said:
‘You are Miss Judith Lee – or you pretend that is your name?’
He spoke English very well, as most of the Swiss one meets in hotels seem to do. Nothing could have been more impertinent than his tone, unless it was the look which accompanied it. I stared at him.
‘I am Miss Lee. I do not pretend that is my name; it is.’
‘Very well – that is your affair, not mine. You will no longer be allowed to occupy a room in this hotel. You can go at once.’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked. The man was incredible.
‘You know very well what I mean. Don’t you try that sort of thing with me. You have stolen an article of jewellery belonging to a guest in my hotel. She is a very kind-hearted lady, and she is not willing to hand you over to the police. You owe me some money; here’s your bill. Are you going to pay it?’
He handed me a long strip of paper which was covered with figures. One glance at the total was enough to tell me that I had not enough money. Mrs Travers was acting as my banker. She had left me with ample funds to serve as pocket-money till she returned, but with nothing like enough money to pay that bill.
‘Mrs Travers will pay you when she comes back, either tomorrow or the day after.’
‘Will she?’ The sneer with which he said it! ‘How am I to know that you’re not at the same game together?’
‘The same game! What do you mean? How dare you look at me like that, and talk to me as if I were one of your servants!’
‘I’m not going to talk to you at all, my girl; I’m going to do. I’m not going to allow a person who robs my guests to remain in my house under any pretext whatever. Your luggage, such as it is, will remain here until my bill is paid.’ He rang a bell which was on the table by which he was standing. The waiter entered who had showed me there. He was a big man, with a square, dark face. ‘This young woman must go at once. If she won’t leave of her own accord we must put her out, by the back door. Now, my girl – out you go!’
The waiter approached me. He spoke to me as he might have done to a dog.
‘Now, then, come along.’
He actually put his hand upon my shoulder. Another second, and I believe he would have swung me round and out of the room. But just as he touched me the door was opened and someone came rushing in – Mrs Anstruther, in a state of the greatest excitement.
‘My diamonds have been stolen!’ she cried. ‘Someone has stolen my diamonds!’
‘Your diamonds?’ The manager
