Digital heart book

I counted four flights: no
porter. It was possible, of course, that I had
reckoned incorrectly; so I went down another and
another, and another, still counting as I went, until I
had reached the preposterous figure of nine flights.
It was now quite clear that I had somehow passed the
porter's lodge without remarking it; indeed, I was, at
the lowest figure, five pairs of stairs below the
street, and plunged in the very bowels of the earth.
That my hotel should thus be founded upon catacombs was
a discovery of considerable interest; and if I had not
been in a frame of mind entirely business-like, I might
have continued to explore all night this subterranean
empire. But I was bound I must be up betimes on the
next morning, and for that end it was imperative that I
should find the porter. I faced about accordingly, and
counting with painful care, remounted towards the level
of the street. Five, six, and seven flights I climbed,
and still there was no porter. I began to be weary of
the job, and reflecting that I was now close to my own
room, decided I should go to bed.


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