"Quick! Now you've got him!" cried Sally. "Ask him what he's talking
about--if he knows, which I doubt--and tell him to speak slowly. Then
we shall get somewhere."

The young man nodded intelligently. The advice was good.

"Lentement," he said. "Parlez lentement. Pas si--you know what I
mean--pas si dashed vite!"

"Ah-a-ah!" cried Jules, catching the idea on the fly. "Lentement. Ah,
oui, lentement."

There followed a lengthy conversation which, while conveying nothing to
Sally, seemed intelligible to the red-haired linguist.

"The silly ass," he was able to announce some few minutes later, "has
made a bloomer. Apparently he was half asleep when we came in, and he
shoved us into the lift and slammed the door, forgetting that he had
left the keys on the desk."

"I see," said Sally. "So we're shut in?"

"I'm afraid so. I wish to goodness," said the young man, "I knew French
well. I'd curse him with some vim and not a little animation, the chump!
I wonder what 'blighter' is in French," he said, meditating.

"It's the merest suggestion," said Sally, "but oughtn't we to do
something?"

"What could we do?"