He looked up suddenly. It was Monsieur Lefevre!
CHAPTER XV
THE few seconds that elapsed while Grace Duvall stood in the deserted studio in Passy, waiting for the arrival of the person who was ascending the stairs, seemed like eternities, so crowded were they with terror.
What should she do—what, indeed, could she do? A dozen plans raced madly through her brain, confusing her, baffling her with their futility.
That the missing boy was within the sound of her voice, she knew; for even as she stood trembling at the ominous footsteps on the creaking stairs, she could hear the low troubled childish moaning, coming apparently from the very air in front of her, yet affording not the slightest clue as to the boy's whereabouts.
She glanced about the room in desperation. Nearer and nearer came the creaking footfalls on the stairs. She dared not leave the room now, and thereby meet the approaching man face to face on the landing; yet to remain where she was would result only in her being obliged to make some lame and halting excuse for her presence, and go, as soon as the man entered the room.
Even this she could not count upon. The fellow, no doubt a desperate and unscrupulous ruffian, might attack her, might detain her a prisoner until the child had been safely removed to another place, beyond all hope of discovery. All the work of the past twelve hours would come to nothing. And even should he let her go, in safety, he could not fail to suspect the reasons for her presence and warn his companions.
Clearly the only thing to do was to remain in the room, in hiding. There was but one place in which she could hope to escape instant detection—the closet. Yet even this promised but temporary safety; the man would be almost certain to open it, for some reason or other, and discover her presence.