"Open that wardrobe," said a voice from the bed: a firm, business-like
voice that was good to hear. "Open it and get right in, young man; but
don't go mussing up my good dresses whatever you do! And you, Monica,
quick! Switch off those lights all but this one by the bed. Good! Now go
to the door and ask them what they mean by making this noise at this
time of night with me ill and all!"

I got into the wardrobe and Monica shut me in. I heard the bedroom door
open, then voices. I waited patiently for five minutes, then the
wardrobe door opened again.

"Come out, Des," said Monica, "and thank Mary Prendergast for her
cleverness."

"What did they say?" I asked.

"That reception clerk was along. He was most apologetic--they know me
here, you see. He told me how a fellow had made a desperate attack upon
a gentleman on the floor below and had got away. They thought he must be
hiding somewhere in the hotel. I told him I'd been sitting here for an
hour chatting with Miss Prendergast and that we hadn't heard a sound.
They went away then!"

"You won't catch any Deutschers fooling Mary Prendergast," said the
jovial lady in the bed; "but, children, what next?"

Monica spoke--quite calmly. She was always perfectly self-possessed.

"My brother is stopping with me in our apartment in the
Bendler-Strasse," she said. "You remember Gerry, Des--he got all smashed