The Cinema Murder | Page 6

time does the boat sail?"
"Three o'clock, sir."
Philip frowned. This was his first disappointment. He had fancied himself on board early
in the day. The prospect of a long morning's inaction seemed already to terrify him.
"Not till the afternoon," he muttered.
"Matter of tide, sir," the man explained. "You can go on board any time after eleven
o'clock in the morning, though. Very much obliged to you, sir."
The porter withdrew, entirely satisfied with his tip. Philip Romilly locked the door after
him carefully. Then he drew a bunch of keys from his pocket and, after several attempts,
opened both the steamer trunk and the dressing-case. He surveyed their carefully packed
contents with a certain grim and fantastic amusement, handled the silver brushes, shook
out a purple brocaded dressing-gown, laid out a suit of clothes for the morrow, even
selected a shirt and put the links in it. Finally he wandered into the adjoining bathroom,
took a hot bath, packed away at the bottom of the steamer trunk the clothes which he had
been wearing, went to bed--and slept.
CHAPTER III
The sun was shining into his bedroom when Philip Romilly was awakened the next
morning by a discreet tapping at the door. He sat up in bed and shouted "Come in." He
had no occasion to hesitate for a moment. He knew perfectly well where he was, he

remembered exactly everything that had happened. The knocking at the door was
disquieting but he faced it without a tremor. The floor waiter appeared and bowed
deferentially.
"There is a gentleman on the telephone wishes to speak to you, sir," he announced. "I
have connected him with the instrument by your side."
"To speak with me?" Philip repeated. "Are you quite sure?"
"Yes, sir. Mr. Douglas Romilly he asked for. He said that his name was Mr. Gayes, I
believe."
The man left the room and Philip took up the receiver. For a moment he sat and thought.
The situation was perplexing, in a sense ominous, yet it had to be faced. He held the
instrument to his ear.
"Hullo? Who's that?" he enquired.
"That Mr. Romilly?" was the reply, in a man's pleasant voice. "Mr. Douglas Romilly?"
"Yes!"
"Good! I'm Gayes--Mr. Gayes of Gayes Brothers. My people wrote me last night from
Leicester that you would be here this morning. You are crossing, aren't you, on the
_Elletania_?"
Philip remained monosyllabic.
"Yes," he admitted cautiously.
"Can't you come round and see us this morning?" Mr. Gayes invited. "And look here, Mr.
Romilly, in any case I want you to lunch with me at the club. My car shall come round
and fetch you at any time you say."
"Sorry," Philip replied. "I am very busy this morning, and I am engaged for lunch."
"Oh, come, that's too bad," the other protested, "I really want to have a chat with you on
business matters, Mr. Romilly. Will you spare me half an hour if I come round?"
"Tell me exactly what it is you want?" Philip insisted.
"Oh! just the usual thing," was the cheerful answer. "We hear you are off to America on a
buying tour. Our last advices don't indicate a very easy market over there. I am not at all
sure that we couldn't do better for you here, and give you better terms."
Philip began to feel more sure of himself. The situation, after all, he realized, was not
exactly alarming.
"Very kind of you," he said. "My arrangements are all made now, though, and I can't

interfere with them."
"Well, I'm going to bother you with a few quotations, anyway. See here, I'll just run
round to see you. My car is waiting at the door now. I won't keep you more than a few
minutes."
"Don't come before twelve," Philip begged. "I shall be busy until then."
"At twelve o'clock precisely, then," was the reply. "I shall hope to induce you to change
your mind about luncheon. It's quite a long time since we had you at the club. Good-by!"
Philip set down the telephone. He was still in his pajamas and the morning was cold, but
he suddenly felt a great drop of perspiration on his forehead. It was the sort of thing, this,
which he had expected--had been prepared for, in fact--but it was none the less, in its way,
gruesome. There was a further knock at the door, and the waiter reappeared.
"Can I bring you any breakfast, sir?" he enquired.
"What time is it?"
"Half-past nine, sir."
"Bring me some coffee and rolls and butter," Philip ordered.
He sprang out of bed, bathed, dressed, and ate his breakfast. Then he lit a cigarette,
repacked his dressing-case, and descended into the hall. He made his way to the hall
porter's enquiry office.