It was an ideal early fall day, with a light blue sky flecked with little fleecy white clouds drifting across from the west. The sun was shining very brightly, and I knew that we were to have more magnificent weather which would surely work wonders on restoring a man’s depleted energy. After repeating the ablutions of the previous morn, I donned my one civilian suit and repaired downstairs for another repast and time spent perusing the Royal Gazette. As usual, I had awoken late, and as I descended the creaking cedar stairs, from the noise emanating from the dining room, I perceived that it was near-fully occupied. However, in the entry room at the bottom of the stairs, Mrs. Foster was speaking softly but earnestly with two individuals apparently new to the clientele of the hotel. “Mrs. Foster,” a man’s voice was saying, with something of a French accent, “I am most displeased. Lucy and I are supposed to have our own rooms.” As I moved downwards, the man’s features came into view.
