Senator, much to our disappointment, made us go back to the hotel.  It was only about half past nine o’clock, and we thought to go to bed an extremely dull proceeding.  But we did not like to question or argue, and obediently went upstairs.  And when the Senator and Nelson saw us safely in our rooms, with the secretary and Mr. Vinerhorn left to be a sort of guard to us, they all went out again to show Tom more sights.

Everything was perfectly quiet; the hotel is against the mountain and rather away from the main and only regular street.

Then, left to ourselves we felt just like naughty children, obliged to get into some mischief, and when Mercedes suggested we should change all the numbers on the doors, it seemed a nice outlet for us!  Octavia had gone to her room, or, she says, she would not have let us, and Lola and her Randolph had retired, too, while the secretary had gone down to the bar, so there was no one to prevent us.  It was, of course, very naughty of us, Mamma, and I dare say we deserved all that followed, but it was a funny idea, wasn’t it?  The only ones we did not change were our own two; everyone else’s in the hotel, and there were about thirty-six rooms altogether, we mixed all up and then we scampered in to bed!

There were only little oil lamps here, the electric lights not having been fixed yet, and when I piled all the bed clothes on the floor and rolled myself up in the quilt, I was off to sleep in a minute.

It did not seem very long afterwards when drunken footsteps came up the passage and woke me up, and then a fumbling at the Senator’s door and frightful swearing because the key would not fit.  The creature, whoever it was, was perfectly furious, and one could hear him muttering “29, yes it’s 29,” and then fearful oaths, and at last, with a shove, he wrenched down the crazy door and got into the room and I suppose was too sleepy or drunk to notice it was not his own, and retired to the Senator’s bed!  Because I could hear him snoring next me through the cracked partition.

A little while after, in the still of night air, there was a distant murmur of voices, and then some shots rang out.  It was a grim, sinister sound, and in about ten minutes running feet were heard, and two or three men came up the passage.  They banged at Lola’s door; hers had been 24 and was now 201.  They cursed and swore and demanded to come in, and at last a voice said, “I’m Curly Grainger,” and then some terrible oaths.  “Open this minute, Jim; we’ve done for two of ’em, but they’ve got Bill, and you must come and bail him out.”

No answer, of course, as Lola was crouching terrified in bed, Randolph just as frightened, I suppose, while even through the Vicomte’s room I could hear Columbia and Mercedes giggle, and I, too, for a minute felt inclined to laugh, it seemed too dramatic to be real.  But the voices got menacing and then the excitement began!  With the most dreadful language they just kicked down the door, intending to pull “Jim” out of bed, I suppose, and when they saw it was one of the strangers’ rooms, I suppose the idea came to them they might do a little robbery as well.