Ten silent strides, and
Theodore Racksole was upon him.
'One word, my friend,' the millionaire began, carelessly waving the
revolver in the air. Jules was indubitably startled, but by an
admirable exercise of self-control he recovered possession of his
faculties in a second.
'Sir?' said Jules.
'I just want to be informed, what the deuce you were doing in No.
111 a moment ago.'
'I had been requested to go there,' was the calm response.
'You are a liar, and not a very clever one. That is my daughter's
room. Now - out with it, before I decide whether to shoot you or
throw you into the street.'
'Excuse me, sir, No. 111 is occupied by a gentleman.'
'I advise you that it is a serious error of judgement to contradict
me, my friend. Don't do it again. We will go to the room together,
and you shall prove that the occupant is a gentleman, and not my
daughter.'
'Impossible, sir,' said Jules.
'Scarcely that,' said Racksole, and he took Jules by the sleeve. The
millionaire knew for a certainty that Nella occupied No. 111, for
he had examined the room her, and himself seen that her trunks
and her maid and herself had arrived there in safety. 'Now open the
door,' whispered Racksole, when they reached No.111.
'I must knock.'
'That is just what you mustn't do. Open it. No doubt you have your
pass-key.'
Confronted by the revolver, Jules readily obeyed, yet with a
deprecatory gesture, as though he would not be responsible for this
outrage against the decorum of hotel life.
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