Page:Arthur Stringer - The Hand of Peril.djvu/210

 could easily picture how desperately she was re-marshalling the scattered lines of her composure. He could hear her as she crossed the room again. He could even catch the sound of the key as it was turned in the distant lock.

He knew the door had been opened, but no sound reached his ears. He heard the thud of the door as it was swung shut again. But still no sound of voices came to the listener in the inner room.

That listener suddenly caught his breath, clasped his hat on his head, and swung about. For a moment the suspicion flashed through him that Maura Lambert had cleverly given him the slip. His fingers were already lifted to the brass draw-bolt when the silence was broken by the sound of a laugh, an open-throated and deep-chested laugh of mockery that was not pleasant to hear. Then a voice spoke.

"You are not glad—that I have come!"

And Kestner, as he listened there, knew that the voice was the voice of Morello.