“We can pay, Herbie. You know that. How much?”

The bell captain hesitated, his mind working greedily. Herbie remembered their fathers, and multiplied the standard rate by two. “A hundred dollars.”

There was a momentary pause. Then one of the boys, Dixon, said decisively, “You got a deal.”

“In advance, gentlemen. And you’ll have to make sure there’s no noise. If we get complaints, there could be trouble for all of us.”

There would be no noise, they had assured him, but now, it seemed, there had been.

An hour ago the girls had come in through the front entrance as usual, with only a few of the hotel’s staff aware that they were not registered hotel guests. Both should have left by now. The eleventh floor complaint meant that something had gone seriously wrong. Herbie was now wondering whether he should go upstairs or stay away.

The St. Gregory’s largest and most elaborate suite had housed a number of distinguished guests, including presidents and royalty. The Duke and Duchess of Croydon, plus their secretary, the Duchess’s maid, and five terriers occupied the suite now.

Waiting in front of the door, McDermott thought what he had heard about the Croydons.

Within the past decade, and aided by his Duchess – herself a known public figure and cousin of the Queen – the Duke of Croydon had become a successful ambassador for the British government. More recently, however, there had been rumors that the Duke enjoyed a little too much the company of liquor and other men’s wives. Though many knew that the Duchess had the situation well in hand. After all, the Duke of Croydon was said to be soon named British Ambassador to Washington.

“Excuse me, Mr. McDermott, can I have a word with you?”

McDermott recognized Sol Natchez, one of the elderly room-service waiters.

“I expect you’ve come about the complaint – the complaint about me.”

McDermott glanced at the double doors to the suite. They had not yet opened, only the dogs were barking. He said, “Tell me what happened.”

Sol swallowed twice, “If I lose this job, Mr. McDermott, it’s hard at my age to find another. The Duke and the Duchess are not the hardest people to serve… except for tonight. They expect a lot, but I’ve never minded, even though there’s never a tip.”

Peter smiled involuntarily. British nobility seldom tipped, thinking, perhaps, that the privilege of waiting on them was a reward in itself.

“It was about half an hour ago. They’d ordered a late supper, the Duke and Duchess – oysters, champagne, shrimp Creole.”

“What happened?”

“When I was serving the shrimp Creole, well… the Duchess got up from the table. As she came back she jogged my arm. If I didn’t know better I’d have said it was deliberate.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

“I know, sir, I know. After that there was a small spot on the Duke’s trousers.”

Peter said doubtfully, “Is that all this is about?”

“Mr. McDermott, I swear to you that’s all. I apologized, I got a clean napkin and water to get the spot off, but it wouldn’t do. She insisted on sending for Mr. Trent… ”

“Mr. Trent is not in the hotel.”

He would hear the other side of the story, Peter decided. Meanwhile he instructed, “If you’re all through for tonight you’d better go home.”

As the waiter disappeared, the door was opened by a moon-faced, youngish man with pince-nez. It was the Croydons’ secretary.

He introduced himself to the secretary.

The secretary said, “We were expecting Mr. Trent.”

“Mr. Trent is away from the hotel for the evening.”

“Why can’t he be sent for?” the Duchess of Croydon appeared, three of the terriers at her heels. She silenced the dogs and turned her eyes on Peter. He was aware of the handsome face, familiar through a thousand photographs.

“To be perfectly honest, Your Grace, I was not aware that you required Mr. Trent personally.”

“Even in Mr. Trent’s absence I expected one of the senior executives.”

Peter flushed. He had an impression, at this moment, of being on foot while the Duchess was mounted.

“I’m assistant general manager. That’s why I came personally.”

“Aren’t you young for that?”

“Nowadays a good many young men are in hotel management.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-two.”