AT BAY
Piquette sent one fleeting glance at her, then stepped out upon the sill of the French window which extended to the floor. When she turned toward Moira, a little pale and breathing rapidly, her hands were empty.
"What did you throw out of the window? What are you doing here?" Moira asked again, moving quickly to the push-button by the door. "Answer me or I'll ring."
Piquette by this time had recovered some of her composure. "Oh, Madame, it is not necessaire to ring," she said easily. "I can explain myself if you will but listen."
"You have no right in this room—unless you are a servant of the hotel. And that you are not——"
"No, Madame," said Piquette coolly, "I am no servant of de hotel. But strange to say, even agains' my will, I am your frien'."
"My friend! Who are you?"
Piquette glanced toward the door into the hall rather anxiously.
"If you will permit me to come into your room I will answer you."
Moira hesitated for a moment, and then indicated the door by which she had entered. Piquette preceded her into the room, as Moira stood by the door, still uncertain but curious as to this stranger who claimed friendship. Piquette indicated the door.