'Gloomy sort of barracks,' he remarked. 'I've never seen even a face at the window.'
'There's a new experience for you, then,' Merrill observed, pointing a little forward,—'a girl's face, too.'
Lavendale was stonily silent, yet when the momentarily raised curtain had fallen he gave a little gasp. It could have been no hallucination. The face, transfigured though it was, in a sense, by its air of furtiveness, was, without a doubt, the face of the girl who had been constantly in his thoughts for the last three weeks. He counted the windows carefully from the ground, noted the exact position of the room and passed his arm through his friend's.
'Come along, Reggie,' he said.
'Where to?'
'Don't ask any questions,' Lavendale begged. 'Just wait.'
They left the hotel by an unfrequented way, Lavendale half a dozen paces ahead. Merrill ventured upon a mild protest.
'Look here, old chap,' he complained, 'you might tell me where we are off to?'
Lavendale slackened his speed for a moment to explain.
'To that room,' he declared. 'Didn't you recognize the girl's face?'