the lift to stop, she prodded the man in charge. It was a system worth a
dozen French conversation books.

Jules brought the machine to a halt: and it was at this point that he
should have done the one thing connected with his professional
activities which he did really well--the opening, to wit, of the iron
cage. There are ways of doing this. Jules' was the right way. He was
accustomed to do it with a flourish, and generally remarked "V'la!" in a
modest but self-congratulatory voice as though he would have liked to
see another man who could have put through a job like that. Jules'
opinion was that he might not be much to look at, but that he could open
a lift door.

To-night, however, it seemed as if even this not very exacting feat was
beyond his powers. Instead of inserting his key in the lock, he stood
staring in an attitude of frozen horror. He was a man who took most
things in life pretty seriously, and whatever was the little difficulty
just now seemed to have broken him all up.

"There appears," said Sally, turning to her companion, "to be a hitch.
Would you mind asking what's the matter? I don't know any French myself
except 'oo la la!'"

The young man, thus appealed to, nerved himself to the task. He eyed
the melancholy Jules doubtfully, and coughed in a strangled sort of way.

"Oh, esker... esker vous..."

"Don't weaken," said Sally. "I think you've got him going."