Page:Arthur Stringer--The House of Intrigue.djvu/284

266 nest which had been feathered for some other and some much luckier woman. I was only an intruder there, a usurper whose kingdom of grandeur might turn topsy-turvy at the first touch of a bell or the unannounced opening of a door.

So I tumbled out of bed and trotted to the double window through which the sun was shining. Nowhere about the many-acred garden that sloped down to the glinting and sparkling waters of the Hudson could I see any sign of life. But this in no way disturbed me. It left me, in fact, so light of heart that I would have begun to whistle—only I suddenly remembered about the mysterious woman sleeping in the cream and gold room across the hall from me.

The thought of that mysterious woman began to worry me. It worried me so much that I silently removed the dressing-table, unlocked the door, and tiptoed out into the hallway. I stood there listening. But not a sound came to me. Then I crept on to the door across the hall, listening again, and silently opened that door.

I opened it just an inch or two. But that was enough. The curtains had been drawn, and the room was still almost in darkness. But from the bed I could hear the deep and regular breathing of a