I attempted to smile, but instead, shuddered painfully, as I
raised my hand and pointed down at the street.
"They are imitating the man," I cried; "my husband and - and the
person he went out with. It looked dreadful to me; that is all."
One of the gentlemen immediately said some kind words to me, and
another smiled in a very encouraging way. But their attention
was soon diverted, and so was mine by the entrance of a man in
semi-uniform, who was immediately addressed as Clausen.
I knew his face. He was one of the doorkeepers; the oldest employee
about the hotel, and the one best liked. I had often exchanged
words with him myself.
Mr. Slater at once put his question:
"Has Mr. Brotherson passed your door at any time to-night?
"Mr. Brotherson! I don't remember, really I don't," was the
unexpected reply. "It's not often I forget. But so many people
came rushing in during those few minutes, and all so excited -"
"Before the excitement, Clausen. A little while before, possibly
just before."
"Oh, now I recall him! Yes, Mr. Brotherson went out of my door
not many minutes before the cry upstairs. I forgot because I had
stepped back from the door to hand a lady the muff she had dropped,
and it was at that minute he went out. I just got a glimpse of his
back as he passed into the street."
"But you are sure of that back?"
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