something like a poignant appeal; what, it was too brief for the receiver to decide, for in the space of an eye-blink[103] a shoulder of the other man intervened, and simultaneously the elevator car began to sink. [103] There was need to decide instantly who should follow, who stay on guard. Rupert bade the boy go down by the stairs, while, with a kind of bulldog instinct, he clung to the rooms. The lad was to fetch the manager and the keys of the Keatcham suite. Meanwhile Rupert paced back and forth before the closed doors, whence there penetrated the rustle of packing and a murmur of voices. Presently Keatcham’s valet opened the farther door. He spoke to some one inside. “Yes, sir,” he said, “the porter hought to be ’ere now.” The porter was there; at least he was coming down the corridor which led to the elevator, trundling his truck before him. He entered the rooms and busied himself about the luggage. Doggedly the colonel stuck to his guard until the valet and another man, a clean-shaven, fresh-faced young man whom the watcher had never seen before, came out of the room. The valet superintended the taking of two trunks, accepting tickets and checks from the porter with a thoroughly Anglican suspicion and thoroughness of[104] inspection, while the young man stood tapping his immaculate trousers-leg with the stick of his admirably slender umbrella. [104] “It’s all right, Colvin,” he broke in impatiently; “three tickets to Los Angeles, drawing-room, one lower berth, one section, checks for two trunks; come on!” Very methodically the man called Colvin stowed away his green and red slips, first in an envelope, then in his pocket-book, finally buttoning an inside pocket over all. He was the image of a rather stupid, conscientious English serving creature. Carefully he counted out a liberal but not lavish tip for the porter, and watched that functionary depart. Last of all, he locked the door. With extreme courtesy of manner Winter approached the young man. “Pardon me,” said he. “I am Colonel Winter; my aunt, Mrs. Winter, has the rooms near yours, and she finds that she needs another room or two. Are you leaving yours?” “These are Mr. Keatcham’s rooms, not mine,” the young man responded politely. “He is leaving them.”
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