Her eyes widened, her pupils dilated under his
gaze, and she held her breath. With the swift caution of the man-hunted
he turned. The room was empty behind him. There was nothing but a
window at his back. The rain was drizzling against it, and he noticed
that the curtain was not drawn, as they were drawn at the other
windows. Even as he looked, the girl went to it and pulled down the
shade. He knew that she had seen something, something that had startled
her for a moment, but he did not question her. Instead, as if he had
noticed nothing, he asked if he might light a cigar.
"I see someone smokes," he excused himself, nodding at the cigarette
butts.
He was watching her closely and would have recalled the words in the
next breath. He had caught her. Her brother was out of town. And there
was a distinctly unAmerican perfume in the smoke that someone had left
in the room. He saw the bit of red creeping up her throat into her
cheeks, and his conscience shamed him. It was difficult for him not to
believe McDowell now. Shan Tung had been there. It was Shan Tung who
had left the hall as he entered. Probably it was Shan Tung whose face
she had seen at the window.
What she said amazed him.
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