The girl was perfect in the geography of the house. Mrs. Baxter's room was one flight up by the main staircase, the second door on the right going down the hall. It was easy enough to go to this door and—very well, she would go there and then decide. No great harm could come from listening at a door. Alas! One never knows how harm may come!
Swiftly and silently the restless searcher glided through the great hall, then up the massive stairs of heavy polished oak, finding her way through the darkness by the guiding flashes of her lamp. But when she reached the head of the stairs and turned cautiously down the corridor, she stopped with a frightened gasp, for there, beyond her, spreading under the second door, Mrs. Baxter's door, was a band of light. And even as she stood, hesitating, her fears were increased by the sound of footsteps in the bedroom. Not only was Mrs. Baxter awake, she was coming toward the door.
Like a flash and noiselessly, the Storm girl darted on and vanished into the black depths of the corridor beyond. If the mistress of the house had heard her on the stairs, it was toward the stairs that she would go now, so the safest place was away from the stairs. Trembling and breathless the girl shrank behind some heavy curtains at the end of the hall and waited.
A moment later the door opened and Mrs. Baxter appeared in a long loose garment and carrying a candle. The light was full on her face, which was deathly white and bore, Hester thought, a look of terror. And, as the lady moved down the corridor, holding her flickering taper, she seemed to shrink away from the black shadows around her. And when she reached the stairs she hurried down with furtive glances behind, as if she felt herself pursued. What trouble or mystery was here?
The girl listened until Mrs. Baxter's footsteps sounded in the hall below, then she followed softly and, leaning over the railing, watched the movements of the candle. It disappeared into the library and presently there came the sound of an opening door. Mrs. Baxter had gone through into the conservatory. What could she want in the conservatory at this time of night? Could she suspect there was an intruder in the house? Was it this that caused her fears? Impossible! No woman would leave her room to meet a hidden burglar. She would scream: she would alarm the house; she would do anything but face the dangers lurking in a shadowy conservatory.
Then what was the explanation? Why had Mrs. Baxter, with pallid face and haunted eyes, gone down those stairs? She must be searching for something that she needed very much. Strange, that there should be two women in this house searching for something that they needed very much! And, suddenly, Hester realized that here was her chance to look into Mrs. Baxter's bedroom. The door was ajar, the light was still burning. One quick glance would tell her what she so much wanted to know.
There! The door opened noiselessly as she pressed it back. Not a sound from below. Now, then! The girl stepped into the chamber and looked about her. On a small table at the head of the rumpled bed lay a book, face downward, by a shaded lamp. Mrs. Baxter had evidently been trying to read herself to sleep. Some exciting story, no doubt, that had made her wider awake than ever.
Hester moved softly about the room, looking in every corner, flashing her light into closet and bathroom, then she came out softly into the hall. The golf bag was not there.
Well, this finished her effort for the night. She had had no luck and—the best thing she could do was to get out of the house. What could that woman be doing down in the conservatory?
Again Hester listened at the stairs, but her straining ears caught no sound nor could her eyes perceive the faintest glow from Mrs. Baxter's candle. Absolute darkness! Absolute silence!