14 April 2027
Wednesday. A party arrived at the desk this afternoon directly from what I can only describe as an ambitious lunch. They were turned away, politely and firmly, and I agreed with every word.
The rule is simple: nobody is checked in who is under the influence of anything at all. A murder requires a clear head to solve, and an even clearer one to be falsely accused of. The champagne can wait until the case is closed. It tastes better then in any case, or so I am told by people who have cleared their names.
The party after them arrived a quarter of an hour early, sober as judges, which in my experience is not very sober, but they were sober as good judges. They had time to put their belongings away, hear the briefing and admire the lamps before Madame the lift took them up.
I did not see how their hour went. I never do; I arrive at the end. But they walked down the stairs with the look of people who had earned something sparkling.
— Insp. A. Brochard, Gendarmerie
