I found room 812 and let myself in. The space was handsomely proportioned and beautifully decorated. The color scheme was neutral—tones of charcoal, beige, and pale gray with textured and small-print fabrics in repetitions of the same shades and hues. King-size bed, desk, large-screen television set, and two comfy reading chairs with a table between. Good lighting, of course. This was a far cry from my usual accommodations, which might best be described as the sort of place where protective footwear is advisable when crossing the room.

My windows overlooked the swimming pool two floors down. The chaise longues were unoccupied. I could see a bar and grill at one end, but it was shuttered.

The directory of hotel services was sitting on the desk. I leafed through, noting that a hotel guest could order up just about anything, including massages, valet services, and babysitters. The indoor pool, the workout facility, and the spa were located on six. I went into the bathroom, which was done up in pale gray marble with thick white towels and an assortment of Acqua di Parma amenities. These people thought of everything. I could learn to live like this.

I pocketed my key card, left my room, and did a full tour of the eighth floor, noting the location of the ice and vending machines. I spotted a door marked STAFF ONLY that I couldn’t resist. Slipping through, I found myself in a short hallway that housed two freight elevators, a row of cleaning trolleys, and a room service cart waiting to be returned to the kitchen. A secondary door opened into a linen room, where clean sheets, towels, and an array of pillows were shelved in neat rows, along with bins of mini shampoos, conditioners, body lotions, and soaps. This area was strictly no-frills: bare concrete floors and walls painted the chipped, utilitarian gray of a prison set.

I moved back into the corridor, which was U-shaped with a stairwell at either end. The three guest elevators were in a transverse corridor midway between. I counted twenty-four rooms, some doubtless larger than others, a guess I later confirmed by consulting the fire map I found on the back of the closet door in my room. There was an X indicating my location with an arrow directing me to the stairs. I was warned not to use the elevators in case of fire, so I swore solemnly I would not. I went up to the ninth floor to assure myself that the layouts were identical and then checked the seventh floor as well.

When I returned to 812, I sat down at the desk, dialed an outside line, and left a message for Henry, summing up my unexpected journey to Beverly Hills. I told him I had no idea how long I’d be gone, but that I’d call him when I got home. After I hung up, I opened the desk drawer and found a leather binder that contained hotel stationery of two kinds: sheets of five-by-eight notepaper bearing the hotel logo, and five-by-four note cards, also neatly embossed with the hotel name and logo. There were six matching envelopes.