“I want some coffee,” I asked.  “I want you to see that it is strong, and well made.”

Louis turned and gave an order to a waiter.  I sat down, and he stood by my side.

“Mademoiselle has gone to her room?” he asked.

“Five minutes ago,” I answered.

“In an hour,” he said, “it will be safe for monsieur to go to Mr. Delora’s room.  You need not pass through the sitting-room at all.  There is a door into the bedroom connecting with the corridor.  If mademoiselle hears anything, she will think that it is the doctor.”

“I shall be quite ready,” I answered.  “There are only one or two things I want to ask you.  One is this, what explanation is to be given of my occupying that room, if there is a row?”

“There will not be a row,” Louis answered coolly.  “If monsieur is hurt, I shall see to it that he is conveyed to his own apartment.  If any one who attacks him, or tries to search the apartment, should be hurt by monsieur, I shall see, too, that they are removed quietly.  These things are easy enough.  The service through the night is almost abandoned.  Monsieur may not know it, but on the floor on which he sleeps there is not a single servant.”

“Supposing I ring my bell?” I asked.

“If it were answered at all,” Louis said, “it would be by the lift man.”

“On the whole,” I remarked, “it seems to me that the residential side of the hotel is admirably suited to the nocturnal adjustment of small differences!”

Louis smiled.

“There has never been any trouble, sir,” he said.  “You see,” he added, pointing to the clock, “it is now ten o’clock.  In one hour monsieur should be there.  I have ordered whiskey and soda to be put in the room.”

“Shall I see anything of you, Louis?” I asked.

“It is not possible, monsieur,” he answered.  “I must be here until half-past twelve or one o’clock to attend to my supper guests.”

I leaned back in my chair and laughed silently.  It seemed to me a strange thing to speak so calmly of the service of the restaurant, while upstairs I was to lie quiet, my senses strained all the time, and the chances of life and death dependent, perhaps, on the quickness of my right arm, or some chance inspiration.  I saw the usual throng come strolling in—­I myself had often been one of them—­actresses who had not time to make a toilette for the restaurant proper, actors, managers, agents, performers from all the hundreds of pleasure houses which London boasts, Americans who had not troubled to dress, Frenchwomen who objected to the order prohibiting their appearance in hats elsewhere,—­a heterogeneous, light-hearted crowd, not afraid to laugh, to make jokes, certain to outstay their time, supping frugally or au prince, according to the caprice of the moment.  And upstairs I saw myself waiting in a darkened room for what?  I felt a thrill of something which I had felt just before the final assault upon Ladysmith, when we had drunk our last whiskey and soda, thrown away our cigarettes, and it had been possible to wonder, for a moment, whether ever again our lips would hold another.  Only this was a very different matter.  I might be ending my days, for all I knew, on behalf of a gang of swindlers!