"How dare you?" she gasped. "What is the meaning of this-?"

"I'm looking for Mr. Drood," said Patton quietly, his glance going beyond her. The room was somewhat Icurger than 360, with two wide windows directly behind the bed. Their curtains billowed in the breeze that swept in from Biscayne Bay, just in front of the hotel.

The bed was neatly made up, and there was no sign of Drood's presence-unless you counted the pitcher of almost melted ice, the bottles of gin, and Tom Collins mix, and the two highball glasses standing sociably side by side on a table at the other end of the room.

"Mr. Drood? Indeed?" Miss Payne had a thin, unpleasantly high voice. She tossed her head in regal anger. "The absolute insolence-"

"Now, take it easy, Miss Payne." Patton held up a beefy hand to ward ofiE her anger. "This ain't what you think. No harm in a couple of guests having a little drink together long's they don't bother other people. The management wants you to be happy here. But this is something else. I just had a dead man reported in Mr. Drood's room."

He raised his voice somewhat as he said this, and after a moment the tightly closed closet door opened and a portly, middle-aged man stepped out. He was in his shirt sleeves, but wearing a neat bow tie, his shiny face was wet with sweat and his thick lips were opening and shutting like a fish freshly taken from the water.

His eyes were round and frightened, and after several tries he managed to say, "A dead man, sir? In my room?"

"That was the report we got. How long you been here?"

Mr Drood drooled a trifle as he glanced despairingly at the haughtily silent Miss Payne, and he said humbly and weakly, "Perhaps half an hour. I just dropped in to-ah- to see an article of interest in the paper Miss Payne and I had discussed, and she was kind enough to-ah-offer me a refreshing drink." He waved with. attempted nonchalance toward the glasses on the table.