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months, you only had to look around . . . all those people, the big wheels of the Simplon, the biggest suites, especially 117, had had a hand in the plot, oh yes! . . . the magnates with the wheelbarrows full of marks . . . maybe they'd committed suicide? . . . that's what Schulze was sending me for . . . I wasn't very eager . . . either they were dead or drunk . . . whenever there's something to celebrate . . . good or bad . . . the human animal swills and swobbles the limit . . . I take my syringe, my medicine kit, my ampuls . . . okay, let's see if they've hanged themselves . . . okay, 113 is right here . . . let's have a look! knock knock! no answer . . . the flunkey with the passkey opens . . . a woman steps out of the darkness, good-looking brunette . . . bosom to the winds, disheveled . . .
    "Oh, it's you! Ah, my dear Doctor! . . . come in, come right in!"
    What can these plotters be up to? Seems more like a daisy chain . . . how many are there? . . . five or six moving shapes . . . back there . . . no business of mine . . . This woman was usually rather aloof . . . barely the shadow of a smile . . . now, with her open wrapper, she's friendlier . . . all of a sudden she kisses me! . . . maybe she wants me to join them? hell! that's not what I've come for . . . not at all! I won't stay a moment . . . How many? . . . I can't make out . . . a jumble . . . I recognize one of the floor waiters and a major . . . and a manicurist . . . naked . . . and five . . . six couples . . . all in the dark . . . they've shut up everything tight, all they've got is a candle, just one . . . what are they doing beside massaging each other? . . . incantations? . . . it smells of incense . . . I can see better now, my eyes are adjusting . . . like an X-ray . . . the disheveled beauty isn't kissing me any more, she lets me go, she collapses, she's sawing wood . . . ah, I see a big photograph on the wall, Hitler hanging upside down . . . with a crape across it . . . straight across the frame . . . they must have been-celebrating his death . . . what Schulze had told me not to mention . . . was that their bomb had fizzled! . . . they looked pretty dumb, loving it up as if the thing had come off! . . . that Adolf wasn't dead! . . . not in the least! . . . the blond colonel and the elevator boy lying on the carpet . . . drunk! . . . gagging . . . going to vomit . . . the rest of them ditto . . . not funny . . . Hitler upside-down was funny, with the big crape . . . I say to the key-bearer: "Okay! . . . now for 117 . . ." I see they've set up tables . . . three . . . four . . . with everything and then somel chickens cut in pieces . . . enormous salad bowls full of everything . . . glazed fruit . . . meringues . . . puking so hard already, they never even touched the stuff . . . cases of champagne . . . enough for at least a week . . . my friendly brunette is sleeping . . . she sees I'm leaving . . . the other rooms are probably just as sinful . . . 214 . . . 218 . . . maybe not black masses in all of them . . . playing the piano then . . . stringing beads . . . in edifying attitudes . . . in tragic situations there are always two schools, the ones that go to see the heads cut off, the ones that go fishing . . . I could hear somebody playing the piano in the drawing room downstairs . . . three flights down . . . I say to the key-bearer: "Let's go!" Ihadn't been mistaken . . . not just one drawing room . . . two . . . three . . . big family gathering . . . oh, but most dignified! industrialists and convalescent generals . . . and French collaborators . . . fathers, mothers, children, and little dogs . . . they certainly know about the plot . . . but they don't seem worried . . . deep in the music! . . . I listen . . . lieder . . . romances . . . our Constantini ° singing . . . he's got a voice all right . . . Madame von Dopf accompanying, very well, without a score . . . the whole repertory . . . the things she likes . . . all the operas . .