Eventually, becoming tired of watching the watcher, she stepped quietly out upon the wharf, advancing to the nearest of her trunks and seating herself upon it. She was still studying the observer, wondering whether to speak first or to wait for him to turn, when there came a swift change in the tableau.
She stepped quietly out upon the wharf, advancing to the nearest of her trunks and seating herself upon it
A bell rang loudly.
The tall man on the string-piece dropped his glasses into the river and whirled about. Then, remembering the glasses, he reached for them, a full second after they disappeared.
He reached too far for the purpose of equilibrium—not far enough to retrieve his loss. His body swayed outward. He clutched at the air; it slipped easily through his fingers. Then, folding up like a jack-knife, he disappeared from Miss Chalmers's vision.
The last thing she noted was a pair of surprised blue eyes, looking at her with unblinking steadiness. She was not at all astonished that the splash was a loud one, considering the manner in which he made his plunge.
The bell still rang blithely.
Miss Chalmers sprang down from her trunk and seized her grip, which lay almost at her feet. She had had enough of bells. Snatching it open, she turned back the alarm lever on a nickeled clock, then snapped the grip shut again. After that she resumed her seat and waited.
Over the string-piece a head appeared. Its owner observed her solemnly.