Indeed, though the fact gave him little pleasure, Archie, as a matter of fact, was at this moment getting about—­including war-tax —­two dollars and seventy-five cents worth of the great emotional star for nothing.  For, having treated him gratis to the look of horror and fury, she now moved towards him with the sinuous walk and spoke in the tone which she seldom permitted herself to use before the curtain of act two, unless there was a whale of a situation that called for it in act one.

“Thief!”

It was the way she said it.

Archie staggered backwards as though he had been hit between the eyes, fell through the open door of his room, kicked it to with a flying foot, and collapsed on the bed.  Peter, the snake, who had fallen on the floor with a squashy sound, looked surprised and pained for a moment; then, being a philosopher at heart, cheered up and began hunting for flies under the bureau.

CHAPTER VIII

A DISTURBED NIGHT FOR DEAR OLD SQUIFFY

Peril sharpens the intellect.  Archie’s mind as a rule worked in rather a languid and restful sort of way, but now it got going with a rush and a whir.  He glared round the room.  He had never seen a room so devoid of satisfactory cover.  And then there came to him a scheme, a ruse.  It offered a chance of escape.  It was, indeed, a bit of all right.

Peter, the snake, loafing contentedly about the carpet, found himself seized by what the Encyclopaedia calls the “distensible gullet” and looked up reproachfully.  The next moment he was in his bag again; and Archie, bounding silently into the bathroom, was tearing the cord off his dressing-gown.

There came a banging at the door.  A voice spoke sternly.  A masculine voice this time.

“Say!  Open this door!”

Archie rapidly attached the dressing-gown cord to the handle of the bag, leaped to the window, opened it, tied the cord to a projecting piece of iron on the sill, lowered Peter and the bag into the depths, and closed the window again.  The whole affair took but a few seconds.  Generals have received the thanks of their nations for displaying less resource on the field of battle.

He opened the-door.  Outside stood the bereaved woman, and beside her a bullet-headed gentleman with a bowler hat on the back of his head, in whom Archie recognised the hotel detective.

The hotel detective also recognised Archie, and the stern cast of his features relaxed.  He even smiled a rusty but propitiatory smile.  He imagined—­erroneously—­that Archie, being the son-in-law of the owner of the hotel, had a pull with that gentleman; and he resolved to proceed warily lest he jeopardise his job.

“Why, Mr. Moffam!” he said, apologetically.  “I didn’t know it was you I was disturbing.”

“Always glad to have a chat,” said Archie, cordially.  “What seems to be the trouble?”