It read:
_M. le Proprietaire,
Grand Hotel Royal,
Weet-sur-Mer._
"The plot thickens!" he murmured. "Well, it's really for me. Let's see,"
and he tore it open. He whistled again as he read the message; then he
called the nearest boy. "Tell Monsieur Pelletan to come here at once,"
he said. "Tell him I must speak to him on a matter of importance."
At the end of a moment, the little man puffed down the stair, exhausted,
radiant!
"Iss eet not grand!" he cried. "What a change from yesterday! T'ough how
you haf accomplishe' eet, monsieur--"
"No matter," interrupted Rushford. "Which is the next best of your
apartments, Pelletan?"
"T'e nex' best? Why, apartment B, monsieur. Eet iss t'e counterpart of
apartment A, only on t'e nort' side of t'e house instead of t'e sout'."
"And it is still empty?"
"At two hundret francs t'e tay? Oh, yess, monsieur; only a Prince can
afford eet now."
"Well, you will prepare it at once--"
"Ah, monsieur himself will take eet! T'at iss just! I shall pe too
happy--"
"No, no; you've just said that only a Prince can afford it and it's my
business to produce him! Let's see--it's nearly nine--well, at ten
o'clock, there will arrive in a special train--"
Monsieur Pelletan had turned pale.
"Een a special train?" he faltered.
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