“Then you take good care of yourself,” Nelita said. “And you make these young men you look after climb their own stairs.”
The porter laughed and held out the key.
“Now mind you give me this back.”
“You’ll have it in your hand almost before you can say ‘Jack Robinson’,” Nelita answered.
She took the key and started up the stairs, while the porter watched her go and made no attempt to follow her.
When she reached the first floor, she hurried on as quickly as she could.
Sir James’s rooms were three floors up and, as the porter had said, it was in the attics.
Nelita unlocked the door.
It was typical, she thought, that he had decided on such an ostentatious address rather than have the comfort he could have found more cheaply elsewhere.
The attic room was sparsely furnished and yet the
