in the bathroom; the next moment I heard a door open and then a loud
exclamation of horror in the room I had just left.

The corridor was dim and deserted. The place seemed uninhabited. No
boots stood outside the rooms, and open doors, one after the other, were
sufficient indication that the apartments they led to were untenanted.

I didn't pause to reason or to plan. On hearing that long drawn out cry
of horror, I dashed blindly down the corridor at top speed, followed it
round to the right and then, catching sight of a small staircase, rushed
up it three steps at a time. As I reached the top I heard a loud cry
somewhere on the floor below. Then a door banged, there was the sound of
running feet and ... silence.

I found myself on the next floor in a corridor similar to the one I had
just left. Like it, it was desolate and dimly lit. Like it, it showed
room after room silent and empty. Agitated as I was, the contrast with
the bright and busy vestibule and the throng of uniformed servants below
was so marked that it struck me with convincing force. Even the hotels,
it seemed, were part and parcel of the great German publicity bluff
which I had noted in my reading of the German papers at Rotterdam.

I had no plan in my head, only a wild desire to put as much distance as
possible between me and that ape-man in the room below. So, after
pausing a moment to listen and draw breath, I started off again.
Suddenly a door down the corridor, not ten paces away from me, opened
and a woman came out. I stopped dead in my headlong course, but it was
too late and I found myself confronting her.

She was young and very beautiful with masses of thick brown hair