“Charles, we shall lose the train,” said the affrighted wife.
“What the mischief does it all mean?” demanded the husband.
“Did madame go into the gentleman’s room?” asked the clerk. Then there
was an awful silence, and all eyes were fixed upon the lady.
“What does it all mean?” demanded the husband. “Did you go into
anybody’s room?”
“I did,” said Mrs. Brown with much dignity, looking round upon her
enemies as a stag at bay will look upon the hounds which are attacking
him. “Give me the handkerchief.” But the night porter quickly put it
behind his back. “Charles, we cannot allow ourselves to be delayed. You
shall write a letter to the keeper of the hotel explaining it all.” Then
she essayed to swim out through the front door into the courtyard, in
which the vehicle was waiting for them. But three or four men and women
interposed themselves, and even her husband did not seem quite ready to
continue his journey. “To-night is Christmas-eve,” said Mrs. Brown, “and
we shall not be at Thompson Hall. Think of my sister!”
“Why did you go into the man’s bedroom, my dear?” whispered Mr. Brown in
English.
But the porter heard the whisper, and understood the language--the
porter who had not been “tipped.” “Ye’es--vy?” asked the porter.
“It was a mistake, Charles; there is not a moment to lose. I can explain
it all to you in the carriage.” Then the clerk suggested that madame had
better postpone her journey a little. The gentleman up-stairs had
certainly been very badly treated, and had demanded to know why so great
an outrage had been perpetrated. The clerk said that he did not wish to
send for the police (here Mrs. Brown gasped terribly, and threw herself
on her husband’s shoulder), but he did not think he could allow the
party to go till the gentleman up-stairs had received some satisfaction.
It had now become clearly impossible that the journey could be made by
the early train. Even Mrs. Brown gave it up herself, and demanded of her
husband that she should be taken back to her bedroom.
“But what is to be said to the gentleman?” asked the porter.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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