Page:Arthur Stringer - The Hand of Peril.djvu/322

 steadied herself by resting her finger-tips against the edge of the table beside her. His own hand, he noticed, was not as controlled as it ought to be.

"I'm sorry," he began, and the very inadequacy of such a beginning brought him up short. He stood there, groping vacantly for the right word, for some reasonable phrase of explanation.

"I thought you were not to follow me!"

She spoke quietly, but he could see that it was costing her an effort. And her wondering gaze was still encompassing him, studying him with an impersonal intentness which did not add to his peace of mind.

"There was nothing else for me to do," he finally found the wit to exclaim.

She did not seem to understand him. There was still something more than a mild reproof in her eyes as she stared at him. She seemed mystified by the fact that he could have gained admission to her rooms without her knowledge. And when she spoke there was a touch of bitterness in her voice.

"This is history repeating itself."

"That," replied Kestner, "is a habit history has!"

Her eyes narrowed, almost in a wince, as though his words carried a sting which had struck home.

"You should not have come here," she finally exclaimed.

"I had to come."

"Why?" she demanded.

"Because you are in danger."

His words did not disturb her. She could even afford to smile a little at their solemnity.

"I have been making it my life study to avoid