There was silence. The bluecoat, my one ally, was crouching for a spring. Then light steps crossed the room, and the door was opened. There stood a girl,—a most attractive girl, the girl that I had seen downstairs. Straight and slender, spiritedly gracious in bearing, with gray eyes questioning us from beneath lashes of crinkly black, she was a radiant figure as she stood facing us, with a coat of bright-blue velvet thrown over her rosy gown.
“Beg pardon, miss,” said the policeman, brightly, “this gintleman’s been robbed.”
As her eyebrows went up a fraction, I could have murdered him, for how else could she read his statement save that I took her for the thief?
“I am very sorry,” I explained, bowing formally, “to disturb you. We are hunting a thief who took French leave by my fire-escape. I must have been mistaken—I thought that he dodged in again by this window. You have not seen or heard anything of him, of course?”
“No, I haven’t. But then, I just this instant came up from dinner,” she replied. Her low, contralto tones, quite impersonal, were yet delightful; I could have stood there talking burglars with her till dawn. “Do you wish to come in and make sure that he is not in hiding?” With a half smile for which I didn’t blame her, she moved a step aside.
“Certainly not!” I said firmly, ignoring a nudge from the policeman. “He left before you came—there was ample time. It is not of the least consequence, anyhow. Again I beg your pardon.” As she inclined her head, I bowed, and closed the door.
“I trust Mr. Bayne, that you are satisfied at last.” This was the St. Ives manager, and I did not like his tone.
“I am satisfied of several things,” I retorted sharply, “but before I share them with you, will you kindly tell me your name?”
“My name is Ritter,” he said with dignity. “I confess I fail to see what bearing—”
“Call it curiosity,” I interrupted. “Doctor, favor me with yours.”
The doctor peered at me over his glasses, hesitated, and then revealed his patronym. It was Swanburger, he informed me.
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