Page:Arthur Stringer--The House of Intrigue.djvu/173

 HE moment the room was clear of that preoccupied quartet I saw my chance. It may not have been much of a chance, but I didn't intend to miss it.

I was out of that bed, in one jump. I ran to the still open hall door, to close and lock it, for I was figuring on at least a flying start. Before I locked that door, however, I stepped out into the hall in my stocking feet. The place was as still as a grave. Then something which I could not define caused me to stare upward.

High above I saw a woman's face, white as a tombstone, leaning over the stair-railing. It was a young face, but a troubled one. I knew, even in that uncertain light, that it was a face which I had never seen before. It was so thin and colorless that I could feel a stirring somewhere about the roots of my hair.

For one brief moment it stared wistfully down at me, and then it disappeared from sight. I decided, as I backed hurriedly away into my bedroom, not to go up those stairs if I could help it.