I'll take you."
Further up the street a faint light shone under a slit between two
boards. There was no door near it, no keyhole or shutter. The American
thundered at the boards with a tin of jam which he took out of his
pocket. The noise was monstrous in the blackness, but the town had heard
noises more monstrous than that, and it lay in a barred and blind,
unanswering stupor.
"God!" said the American, quickly angered, and kicked the board till the
slit grew larger. The light went out.
"Some one is coming round to the door," said Fanny, in time to prevent
the destruction of the board.
Higher up the street bolts were being withdrawn and a light fell upon
the pavement.
"Who's there?" creaked a voice. The American moved towards the light.
"The hotel is shut to Americans," said the voice.
"The devil it is," shouted the American. "And why, then?"
"Man killed here last night," said the voice briefly. Fanny moved
towards the light and saw an old man with a shawl upon his shoulders,
who held a candle fixed in the neck of a bottle.
"I am English," she said to the old man. "I am alone. I want a room
alone."
"I've a room ... If you're not American!"
"I don't know what kind of a hole this is," said the American
wrathfully. "I think you'd better come right back to the 'Y.' Say, here,
what kind of a row was this last night you got a man killed in?"
"Kind of row your countrymen make," muttered the old man, and added
"Bandits!"
Soothing, on the one hand, entreating on the other, the girl got rid of
her new friend, and effected an entrance into the hotel.
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