Over the dressing table was a large round looking-glass. The light of the bedside lamp touched it, dimly reflecting Ann's flushed cheeks and her absorbed, furtive eyes. Her body shielded what she was doing at the dressing table, which seemed to consist in searching among toilet articles there. Courtney heard glass rattle, and a sound as of fumbling among hairpins in a tray.
Then the door to the hall opened again.
"Oh!" said Ann, and straightened up.
The man who entered seemed as startled as she was.
He released his hand slowly from the knob, while the clock ticked. Again from die descriptions — a John Bullish man with funny hair — Courtney placed him as Dr. Richard Rich.
"I hope I don't intrude?" he inquired politely, in a soft bass voice.
"Oh, no!" smiled Ann. Courtney saw her profile reflected side-ways in the mirror, the lift of the chin and the slim rounded neck. "I thought I left my compact here, that's all. But it doesn't seem to be here."
"You know," smiled Rich, with the same meditative politeness, "I've often thought that a compact was the best excuse ever provided to womankind. We men have nothing so good." His tone changed. "Miss Browning, do you honestly doubt that Mrs. Fane is under hypnosis?"
"I don't understand what you mean?" "Give me the pin, please," said Rich, extending his hand. "Pin?"
"The pin you have in your hand."