9 June 2027
Wednesday. A young woman asked me tonight, before she went up, whether the hotel would give her nightmares. She does not care for horror films. Neither do I. They are full of people who never call the police.
No, I said. The hotel is not a horror story. It is a puzzle in good clothes. There is lamplight, and velvet, and a great deal of very fine wood panelling, and the unfortunate business upstairs, which is a matter for thinking rather than for screaming.
The lighting is arranged for effect, and there may be a darker moment or a flicker here and there, and anyone who minds flashing light should mention it before booking. But nothing leaps out. Nothing growls. The only thing in the building that growls is Croissant, and only at the lift.
She came down at the end of the hour pink-cheeked and talking very fast about the suite. She said it was the least frightening murder she had ever been accused of. I have taken that as a compliment to the hotel.
— Insp. A. Brochard, Gendarmerie
