Strange to be looking hungrily here for signs of Petra’s personality when Petra herself was lost! Strange to care that there was nothing here in Petra’s own place, her room, to speak her real! Stranger yet that there was nothing, not a book, not a flower,—not a scrap of living interest anywhere! It might have been a stage bedroom. All the properties necessary for the idea that somebody did use it to sleep in—yes. But you must wait for the actress to come on, to know what she was like. A stage bedroom! And yet this was Petra’s retreat, her very own room, her place. Lewis almost shuddered at it. The Maid of the Alder—the hollow woman. It might have been her cave! It was so soulless.
The brilliant October sunlight turned the shut curtains into a glaring purplish pink. The image of a peacock spreading a mammoth spectroscopic tail was embossed on the oyster-colored rug. There were smaller peacocks on the backs of the chairs. Suddenly Lewis stopped looking for signs of Petra. When she came in here, herself, her personality, was shut away, outside the four walls of her bedroom. He felt that it must beat around the walls all night to get in. She slept in a place shut away from herself. This was madness! She wasn’t here. Hadn’t been here ever. Not really. Where was she?
Elise had followed him in. He turned to her and all she saw was an efficient, cool person who would make everything all right. She was beginning to get over her scare. Doctor Pryne was not scared.
“Has Miss Farwell any other room than this? A sitting room?”
“No, sir. There is the bath. I looked in there when I came up. She didn’t use her towels last night. I don’t think she came into the room at all after I fixed it, sir.”
“Miss Farwell wore a white dress last night. Whitish, anyway. See if that is in her closet, please.”
Elise hurried to the closet. In spite of the way Doctor Pryne’s demands came—like firecrackers crackling—Elise still trusted to his coolness. It kept her cool.
“No, sir. That dress isn’t here. It was a new one.”
“Does Miss Farwell ever sleep anywhere else than here, when she’s at home? At the guest house, for instance? Or in another bedroom?”
“No, sir. We don’t keep the beds made up, except when there are guests.”