Page:Arthur Stringer--The House of Intrigue.djvu/326

306 Once I was assured my own room was empty and would make a convenient port of refuge in case of interruption, I rescued my pearl-handled revolver from under its pillow. Then I tiptoed across the hall to the door that opened on the cream and gold room.

I fitted the key in the lock and turned it slowly, without making a sound. I was equally careful in turning the knob. Then I swung the door back a few inches. And then I stood stock-still.

For I saw that my unknown sleeper was no longer in the bed. And that discovery rather stumped me.

But even as I stood there staring in at the empty bed, with its telltale tumble of white linen, a door on the far side of the room was slowly opened. The next moment a woman stepped through it. I could see her quite plainly. Yet what made me catch my breath was the discovery that this woman was the same white-faced woman I had seen in the city house with the limestone front.

I stood so motionless that she failed to catch sight of me. For she hesitated a moment, with her eyes downcast, apparently in an attitude of listening for something. And that gave me a chance for a more leisurely survey of her figure. She was wearing a peignoir of white corduroy-velvet, with swan's-down