Pamela and Warrisden turned to him and laughed. It was true that they had for a moment forgotten Mr. Mudge. The memory of the star-lit night, in last July, when from this balcony they had watched the truants slip down the steps and furtively call a cab, was busy in their thoughts. From that night their alliance had dated, although no suspicion of it had crossed their minds. It seemed strange to them now that there had been no premonition.
"Well, who lives there?" asked Mudge.
But even now he received no answer; for Warrisden suddenly exclaimed in a low, startled voice--
"Look!" and with an instinctive movement he drew back into the room.
A man was standing in the road looking up at the windows of the dark house. His face could not be seen under the shadow of his hat. Pamela peered forward.
"Do you think it's he?" she asked in a whisper.
"I am not sure," replied Warrisden.
"Oh, I hope so! I hope so!"
"I am not sure. Wait! Wait and look!" said Warrisden.
In a few moments the man moved. He crossed the road and stepped on to the pavement. Again he stopped, again he looked up to the house; then he walked slowly on. But he walked northwards, that is, towards the watchers at the window.