He shut the door carefully, and led the way upstairs.
"Here we are," he whispered at last. "I hope M'sieur will be satisfied. This is a room which was occupied by a charming Polish lady, Madame Wolsky, who was a friend of M'sieur's friend, Madame Bailey. But she left suddenly a week ago, and so we have the room at M'sieur's disposal."
He put the candle down, and bowed himself out of the room.
Chester looked round the large, bare sleeping chamber in which he found himself with the agreeable feeling that his long, hot, exciting day was now at an end.
Yes, it was a pleasant room—bare, and yet furnished with everything essential to comfort. Thus there was a good big, roomy arm-chair, a writing-table, and a clock, of which the hands now pointed to a quarter to one o'clock.
The broad, low bed, pushed back into an alcove as is the French fashion, looked delightfully cool and inviting by the light of his one candle.
When M. Malfait had shown him into the room the window was wide open to the hot, starless night, but the landlord, though he had left the window open, had drawn the thick curtains across it. That was all right; Chester had no wish to be wakened at five in the morning by the sunlight streaming into the room. He meant to have a really long rest. He was too tired to think—too tired to do anything but turn in.
And then an odd thing happened. Chester's brain was so thoroughly awake, he had become so over-excited, that he could not, try as he might, fall asleep.
He lay awake tossing about hour after hour. And
