Page:Arthur Stringer - The Hand of Peril.djvu/61

 place in the room escaped the somnolent eye behind the amber-tinted lens.

These eyes made note of the fact that the wires of telephone, so recently installed in the apartment, ran from the table-edge to the floor, close beside the light-wires. They made note of these incongruous innovations in a villa so antiquated, and they also made note of the doors, and the modern manner of lock with which they were now protected. They appraised the furniture and the work-table on which the telephone stood.

But most of all they quietly studied the face of the young woman on the far side of the drawing-desk. This face revealed itself as being thinner and paler than when last seen by those same studious eyes. It showed a deepened sense of trouble about the clouded white brow, a more wistful line of revolt about the full lines of the red lips that parted in a curve that was almost child-like. But the dull chestnut of the heavily massed hair was the same, and the same, too, was the light in the violet-blue eyes with their adumbrating fringe of lashes. The delicate oval of the face carried the same incongruous suggestion of fragility, of unblunted sensibilities. The tilt of the chin as the head was thrown back to observe through drooping lids the effect of the first hurrying brush-strokes seemed as unstudied and adorable as before.

Yet the watcher did not fail to observe the facile and quick-fingered hand as it worked, and the thought that this hand belonged to the most skilful forger in all Europe suddenly robbed the face of its inherent loveliness. The mere memory of it sent a twitch of revolt through the dowdy old lady in black. It seemed