Місяць і гріш

Chapter XI

           

           IenquiredatmyhotelforthatinwhichCharlesStricklandwasliving.ItwascalledtheHoteldesBelges.Buttheconcierge,somewhattomysurprise,hadneverheardofit.IhadunderstoodfromMrs.StricklandthatitwasalargeandsumptuousplaceatthebackoftheRuedeRivoli.Welookeditoutinthedirectory.TheonlyhotelofthatnamewasintheRuedesMoines.Thequarterwasnotfashionable;itwasnotevenrespectable.Ishookmyhead.

           "I’msurethat’snotit,"Isaid.

           Theconciergeshruggedhisshoulders.TherewasnootherhotelofthatnameinParis.ItoccurredtomethatStricklandhadconcealedhisaddress,afterall.IngivinghispartnertheoneIknewhewasperhapsplayingatrickonhim.IdonotknowwhyIhadaninklingthatitwouldappealtoStrickland’ssenseofhumourtobringafuriousstockbrokerovertoParisonafool’serrandtoanill-famedhouseinameanstreet.Still,IthoughtIhadbettergoandsee.Nextdayaboutsixo’clockItookacabtotheRuedesMoines,butdismisseditatthecorner,sinceIpreferredtowalktothehotelandlookatitbeforeIwentin.Itwasastreetofsmallshopssubservienttotheneedsofpoorpeople,andaboutthemiddleofit,ontheleftasIwalkeddown,wastheHoteldesBelges.Myownhotelwasmodestenough,butitwasmagnificentincomparisonwiththis.Itwasatall,shabbybuilding,thatcannothavebeenpaintedforyears,andithadsobedraggledanairthatthehousesoneachsideofitlookedneatandclean.Thedirtywindowswereallshut.

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