THE AFFAIR AT THE SEMIRAMIS HOTEL
men listened, and now the words came to them mispronounced but decipherable.
"Mysterious crime at the Semiramis Hotel."
Ricardo stared at his companion.
"You were wrong then!" he cried* "Calladine's story was true."
For once in a way Hanaud was quite disconcerted.
"I don't know yet," he said. "We will buy a paper."
But before he could move a step a taxi-cab turned into the Adelphi from the Strand, and wheeling in front of their faces, stopped at Calladine's door. From the cab a girl descended.
"Let us go back," said Hanaud.
III
Mr. Ricardo could no longer complain. It was half-past eight when Calladine had first disturbed the formalities of his house in Grosvenor Square. It was barely ten now, and during that short time he had been flung from surprise to surprise, he had looked underground on a morning of fresh summer, and had been thrilled by the contrast between the queer, sinister life below and within and the open call to joy of the green world above. He had passed from incredulity to belief, from belief to incredulity, and when at last incredulity was firmly established, and the story to
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