They all set down
at the same door, and took up from it at any hour between midnight and
dawn, waiting patiently in file in the wide street round the corner,
till the summons came as each carriage was required.
As seen in the daytime, there was nothing strange about the door, or
the house to which it gave access. The place purported to be an
hotel--a seedy, out-at-elbows, seemingly little-frequented hotel,
rejoicing in the altogether inappropriate name of the Hotel Paradis,
or the Paradise Hotel. Its outward appearance was calculated to repel
rather than invite customers; no one would be likely to lodge there
who could go elsewhere. It had habitually a deserted look, with all
its blinds and casements close shut, as though its lodgers slept
through the day, or had gone away, never to return.
But this was only by day. At night the street-door stood wide open,
and a porter was on duty at the foot of the staircase within. He was
on the inner side of a stout oaken door, in which was a small window,
opening with a trap. Through this he reconnoitred all arrivals,
taking stock of their appearance, and only giving admission when
satisfied as to what he saw.
The Hotel Paradis, in plain English, was a gambling-house, largely
patronised, yet with an evil reputation. It was well known to, and
constantly watched by, the police, who were always at hand, although
they seldom interfered with the hotel.
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