Few persons
were astir. Once the night patrol clattered by. They passed
through the markets, and not far ahead they could see the
university. It looked like a city prison.
"This is the hotel, Herr," said the messenger.
They entered. Maurice approached the proprietor, who was pale
and flurried; but as Maurice had never seen the natural repose
of his countenance, he thought nothing of it.
"My friend, Herr Hamilton, has met with an accident. Where is
his room?"
"Number nine; Johann will show you." He acted as if he had
something more to say, but a glance from the round-faced porter
silenced him. Maurice lost much by not seeing this glance. He
followed the messenger up the stairs.
There were no transoms. The corridor was devoid of illumination.
The porter struck a match and held it close to the panel of a
door under which a thread of light streamed.
"This is it, Herr," he bawled, so loudly that Maurice started.
"There was no need of waking the dead to tell me," he growled.
The door opened, and before Maurice could brace himself--for the
interior of the room made all plain to him--he was violently
pushed over the threshold on to his knees.
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