“Yas, suh,” he reported, with a suppressed grin, “he’s in 256, suh. De do’ was open, an’ I seed ’im from de hall, suh.”
“I wish you’d go up and tell him,” said Ellis, “that—What are you grinning about?” he asked suddenly, noticing the waiter’s expression.
“Nothin’, suh, nothin’ at all, suh,” responded the negro, lapsing into the stolidity of a wooden Indian. “What shall I tell Mr. Delamere, suh?”
“Tell him,” resumed Ellis, still watching the boy suspiciously—“no, I’ll tell him myself.”
He ascended the broad stair to the second floor. There was an upper balcony and a parlor, with a piano for the musically inclined. To reach these one had to pass along the hall upon which the room mentioned by the bellboy opened. Ellis was quite familiar with the hotel. He could imagine circumstances under which he would not care to speak to Delamere; he would merely pass through the hall and glance into the room casually, as anyone else might do, and see what the darky downstairs might have meant by his impudence.
It required but a moment to reach the room. The door was not wide open, but far enough ajar for him to see what was going on within.
Two young men, members of the fast set at the Clarendon Club, were playing cards at a small table, near which stood another, decorated with an array of empty bottles and glasses. Sprawling on a lounge, with flushed face and disheveled hair, his collar unfastened, his vest buttoned awry, lay Tom Delamere, breathing stertorously, in what seemed a drunken sleep. Lest there should be any doubt of the cause of his condition, the fingers of his right hand had remained clasped mechanically around the neck of a bottle which lay across his bosom.
Ellis turned away in disgust, and went slowly back to the ladies.
“There seems to be no one here yet,” he reported. “We came a little early for the evening crowd. The clerk says Tom Delamere was here to luncheon, but he hasn’t seen him for several hours.”
“He’s not a very gallant cavalier,” said Mrs. Carteret severely. “He ought to have been waiting for us.”
Clara was clearly disappointed, and made no effort to conceal her displeasure, leaving Ellis in doubt as to whether or not he were its object. Perhaps she suspected him of not having made a very thorough search. Her next remark might have borne such a construction.
“Sister Olivia,” she said pettishly, “let’s go up to the parlor. I can play the piano anyway, if there’s no one to talk to.”
“I find it very comfortable here, Clara,” replied her sister placidly. “Mr. Ellis will go with you. You’ll probably find someone in the parlor, or they’ll come when you begin to play.”
Clara’s expression was not cordial, but she rose as if to go. Ellis was in a quandary. If she went through the hall, the chances were at least even that she would see Delamere. He did not care a rap for Delamere—if he chose to make a public exhibition of himself, it was his own affair; but to see him would surely spoil Miss Pemberton’s evening, and, in her frame of mind, might lead to the suspicion that Ellis had prearranged the exposure. Even if she should not harbor this unjust thought, she would not love the witness of her discomfiture. We had rather not meet the persons who have seen, even though they never mention, the skeletons in our closets. Delamere had disposed of himself for the evening. Ellis would have a fairer field with Delamere out of sight and unaccounted for, than with Delamere in evidence in his present condition.
“Wouldn’t you rather take a stroll on the beach, Miss Clara?” he asked, in the hope of creating a diversion.
“No, I’m going to the parlor. You needn’t come, Mr. Ellis, if you’d rather go down to the beach. I can quite as well go alone.”
“I’d rather go with you,” he said meekly.
They were moving toward the door opening into the hall, from which the broad staircase ascended. Ellis, whose thoughts did not always respond quickly to a sudden emergency, was puzzling his brain as to how he should save her from any risk of seeing Delamere. Through the side door leading from the hall into the office, he saw the bellboy to whom he had spoken seated on the bench provided for the servants.
“Won’t you wait for me just a moment, Miss Clara, while I step into the office? I’ll be with you in an instant.”
Clara hesitated.
“Oh, certainly,” she replied nonchalantly.
Ellis went direct to the bellboy. “Sit right where you are,” he said, “and don’t move a hair. What is the lady in the hall doing?”
“She’s got her back tu’ned this way, suh. I ’spec’ she’s lookin’ at the picture on the opposite wall, suh.”
“All right,” whispered Ellis, pressing a coin into the servant’s hand. “I’m going up to the parlor with the lady. You go up ahead of us, and keep in front of us along the hall. Don’t dare to look back. I shall keep on talking to the lady, so that you can tell by my voice where we are. When you get to room 256, go in and shut the door behind you: pretend that you were called—ask the gentlemen what they want—tell any kind of a lie you like—but keep the door shut until you’re sure we’ve got by. Do you hear?”
“Yes, suh,” replied the negro intelligently.
The plan worked without a hitch. Ellis talked steadily, about the hotel, the furnishings, all sorts of irrelevant subjects, to which Miss Pemberton paid little attention. She was angry with Delamere, and took no pains to conceal her feelings. The bellboy entered room 256 just before they reached the door. Ellis had heard loud talking as they approached, and as they were passing there was a crash of broken glass, as though some object had been thrown at the door.
“What is the matter there?” exclaimed Clara, quickening her footsteps and instinctively drawing closer
