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XV
I do not hesitate to affirm that the rooms of the other guests did not merit from Commissioner Aubry the prolonged, minute examination which he dedicated to the rooms of Dr. Humberto Hubermann.
 While the police retinue continued its inspection of the hotel, I was not idle. After restoring order to my room, I initiated on my own account an investigation. I went to the hall. Imagine my surprise to find that no gendarme was guarding the scene of the crime! I stationed myself in the shadow, in the same place from which, yesterday afternoon, Miguel had listened to Mary and Emilia arguing. Immediately I recalled how I had surprised Miguel and, with sudden dread, I realized that someone might likewise catch me unawares.
I prepared to flee, when approaching steps restrained me. The steps of the typist. I was beginning to recognize, one by one, the elements of that hermetic house, that constructed world (just as an inmate recognizes the rats of his cell and the patient, the designs on the wallpaper or the moldings of the ceiling). Brandishing her swatter, that huntress appeared in the twilight. She made patrol dangerously, following the flight of the flies. Then she was lost in the darkness of the hallways.
I waited a bit longer. It did not matter that the typist had surprised me: it would be best, however, that no one know I had been hiding outside Mary's room. I waited too long. Atuel was slowly descending the stairs. He came forward with a mixture of caution and confidence that paralyzed me, like the sudden revelation of criminal capabilities in a man upon whom, until then, I had looked with indifference. He entered Mary's room. He took a bag from under the bed; he opened it and dug into it for a while. Then he reread the papers on the table. He seemed to be searching for something. His unadulterated composure was unnatural; I thought of accomplished actors, who know they have an audience and who despise it. . . . A cold sweat pearled across my forehead. Atuel left the papers; from the shelf he took a red book, which I recognized, a novel in English with an emblem, masks and pistols superimposed, on the cover. He put the book in his pocket; he walked toward the door; he looked in each direction; he took several long silent steps; he stopped again; I saw him go up the stairs, four at a time.
I left at last. If I remained any longer, the police would discover me. I ordered my cousin to prepare me fresh bread.
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