He heard movement then, a swift, running movement--and
he switched on his light. A moment later he opened the door. No one was
there. The long corridor was empty. And then--a distance away--he heard
the soft opening and closing of another door.
It was then that his eyes saw a white, crumpled object on the floor. He
picked it up and reentered his room. It was a woman's handkerchief. And
he had seen it before. He had admired the pretty laciness of it that
evening in the smoking-room. Rather curious, he thought, that he should
now find it at his door.
CHAPTER IV
For a few minutes after finding the handkerchief at his door, Alan
experienced a feeling of mingled curiosity and disappointment--also a
certain resentment. The suspicion that he was becoming involved in spite
of himself was not altogether pleasant. The evening, up to a certain
point, had been fairly entertaining. It was true he might have passed a
pleasanter hour recalling old times with Stampede Smith, or discussing
Kadiak bears with the English earl, or striking up an acquaintance with
the unknown graybeard who had voiced an opinion about John Graham. But
he was not regretting lost hours, nor was he holding Mary Standish
accountable for them. It was, last of all, the handkerchief that
momentarily upset him.
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