134 The Diary of a Drug Fiend
when we left under the guidance of a very business-like
Italian, who spoke English well.
We caught the boat to Capri with plenty of time to
spare, and regaled the consul’s clerk with all sorts of
amusing anecdotes. He was very pleased to be treated
on such a friendly footing.
We went up to the Piazza in the Funicular with
almost the sensation of soaring. It had been a devil
of a mess; but five minutes more would see it at an
end. And, despite my exaltation, I registered a
vow that I would never do anything so foolish
again,
Of course, it was evident what had happened to
Feccles. He had somehow failed to learn of our arrest,
and was waiting at the hotel with impatient anxiety
for our return.
At the same time, it was rather ridiculous in that
costume in broad daylight to have to ask the porter
for one’s key.
I could not at all understand his look of genuine
surprise. That wasn’t simply a question of clothes—
I felt it in my bones. And there was the manager,
bowing and scraping like a monkey. He seemed to
have lost his self-possession. The torrent of his words
of welcome ran over a very rough bed.
I couldn’t really grasp what he was saying for a
moment, but there was no mistaking the import of
his final phrase.
“I’m so delighted that you've changed your mind,
Sir Peter, but I felt sure you could never bear to leave
Capri so soon. Our beautiful Capri! ’’
What the deuce was the fellow talking about?
Change my mind? What I wanted to do was to change
my clothes|!
The consul’s clerk made a few rapid: explanations
in Italian, and it almost hit me in the eye to watch the
manager’s face as he lifted his eyes and saw the two
obvious detectives in the doorway.
‘“‘T don’t understand,” he said with sudden anxiety.