So he gave
careful and minute attention to every item. He was in the midst of a
long and wholly uninteresting account of a charity bazaar, which the
Princess of Wales had opened, and where the Duchess of Blank-Blank had
made a tremendous hit and much money for a worthy cause, by selling her
kisses for a guinea each, when his attention was attracted by a discreet
shuffling of feet on the floor beside his chair. He looked up to see
standing there the little fat Alsatian-German-French proprietor of the
hotel.
"Why, hello, Pelletan," he said. "Want to speak to me?"
"Eef monsieur please," and Pelletan rubbed his chubby hands together in
visible embarrassment.
"All right; sit down."
Monsieur Pelletan coughed deprecatingly and deposited his plump body on
the extreme edge of a chair. It was easy to see that he was much
depressed--his usually rosy cheeks hung flaccid, his mustachios drooped
limply, his little black eyes were suffused and needed frequent
wiping--a service performed by a hand that was none too steady.
"Eet iss a matter of pusiness, monsieur," he began, falteringly. "You
haf perhaps perceive' t'at our custom hass fallen off."
Rushford glanced about the deserted smoking-room.
"No," he said; "I haven't seen any to fall off. I've been wondering how
you managed to pay out.
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