“I think he’s about ripe for a consultation with Kirk,” he told himself. “And the quicker he makes up his mind to it, the better. For this little game is getting so close that I’m beginning to feel it pinch.”
He yawned widely and started for his room.
Now, after the way of most big outdoor men, Mr. Scanlon, in his moments of relaxation, was not at all light footed. Neither was he naturally given to stealthy ways. But since coming to Schwartzberg he had acquired both.
“They have fallen upon me like a couple of garments,” he had acknowledged to himself more than once. “And I’ve got to going around as softly as a pair of gum shoes shot through a Maxim silencer.”
It was in the hall, not far from the head of the stairs, that he had seen the soft man on the night before; this fact must have been subconsciously active, for he now slowly lifted his head above the level of the floor, his eyes, as he did so, glancing swiftly ahead. Both the hall and the stairway were dim; and before his eye had caught anything, his ear got a soft step and the gentle closing of a door.
“The golden Helen,” he said, a moment later, as he caught the outlines of Miss Knowles. “What now, I wonder?”
With the light foot and the stealthy manner, Bat had acquired the habit of suspicion. He had reached the state where every movement which he did not understand was an occasion for inquiry; each unexplained sound caused him to prick up his ears. Under ordinary circumstances the gentle closing of the door and the quiet movements of Miss Knowles would have passed unnoticed.
“But these are no ordinary times,” he told himself. “The golden one is a very busy person, and so, when she goes pit-patting around, there’s no harm in looking after her.”
The girl flitted down the hall, and Scanlon quietly followed. But in the dusk he lost sight of her. Reaching the place where he had last seen her, he stared around; but nothing but shadows met his eye.
“Gone into one of the rooms,” said he to himself. “But which, and why?”