“Did you knock at my door?” she asked of the man in the bowler hat.
“I? No!”
“Somebody knocked at my door.”
“Did they? Are you sure? They can’t have done. There are no footmarks in the snow.”
“Nor are there!” she said. “But somebody knocked and called something.”
“That’s very curious,” said the man. “Were you expecting some one?”
“No. Not exactly expecting any one. Except that one is always expecting Somebody, you know.” In the dimness of the snow-lit night he could see her making big, dark eyes at him.
“Was it some one laughing?” he said.
“No. It was no one laughing, exactly. Some one knocked, and I ran to open, hoping as one always hopes, you know——”
“What?”