He was sitting in his office, poring over the manager’s report from the night before, when the knock came at the door. The guest in 311, a wealthy Frenchman, had reported a silver pocket watch missing from his bedside table – and though this was not, in itself, an unusual occurrence, it was vexing him today. Monsieur Fortier was worth so much in future profits to the hotel that the situation had to be carefully stage-managed. Things went missing all the time. Only rarely was it theft. And M. Fortier had enjoyed so much of the hotel’s finest cognac the night before that Maynard was of the opinion he would later discover his silver pocket watch in the cuff of his trousers, or – more likely yet – the handbag of whomever had shared his bed. Maynard would have to ask Billy Brogan to find out exactly who that was. Even so, it was necessary that this was delicately handled. As a matter of course, he would summon the chambermaids to a conference and ask them to commit to a search of their rooms. Then, when he found nothing, he would make restitution from the hotel’s emergency fund to M. Fortier, tell him that the matter had been privately handled, and secure his silence with a complimentary dinner in whichever of the Buckingham’s restaurants took his particular fancy. These were the matters in which a hotel director spent his days.

The knocking at the door became more insistent. Maynard Charles called out, ‘Enter.’