Where
is Windsor?'
'Oh, that means the Windsor Hotel. Just up the street.'
Kenyon registered, told the clerk to assign him a room, and send his
baggage up to it when it came. Then he walked out from the hotel and
sought the Windsor.
He found that colossal hostelry, and was just inquiring of the clerk
whether a Mr. Longworth was staying there, when that gentleman appeared
at the desk, took some letters and his key.
Kenyon tapped him on the shoulder.
Young Longworth turned round with more alacrity than he usually
displayed, and gave a long whistle of surprise when he saw who it was.
'In the name of all the gods,' he cried, 'what are _you_ doing here?'
Then, before Kenyon could reply, he said: 'Come up to my room.'
They went to the elevator, rose a few stories, and passed down an
apparently endless hall, carpeted with some noiseless stuff that gave no
echo of the footfall. Longworth put the key into his door and opened it.
They entered a large and pleasant room.
'Well,' he said, 'this _is_ a surprise. What is the reason of your being
here? Anything wrong in London?'
'Nothing wrong, so far as I am aware. We received no cablegram from you,
and thought there might be some hitch in the business; therefore I came.'
'Ah, I see. I cabled over to your address, and said I was staying at the
Windsor for a few days. I sent a cablegram almost as long as a letter,
but it didn't appear to do any good.'
'No, I did not receive it.
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