He felt that he could not chance the passage of the hall once more; his groping hand had touched the wood of a door; now he found the knob, opened the door silently as possible, slipped inside and partially closed it. It was fortunate that he did so; for immediately afterward came a short, snapping sound, and a flare of light filled the hall. Scanlon stooped cautiously to the key-hole, and peered through it; there, holding a lighted match above her golden head, stood Miss Knowles.
“Came back looking for little me,” was Mr. Scanlon’s conclusion. “Well, look away, Helen of the crown of gold; for behind the door I’m going to stick.”
The match burned out; there followed the sound of some one moving along the hall, and when silence had fallen once more, Scanlon began to stir. But as he came from behind the door he caught a trickle of light in the room. He stood staring at it for a moment; and then it dawned upon him what it was.
“Still another door,” murmured he.
Gently he approached the light; it came, as he judged, from under a door and through its key-hole. He listened; from the adjoining room he caught the sound of rustling paper, and now and then the closing of a drawer.
“Isn’t he the thorough little ransacker, though?” continued Mr. Scanlon, immediately interpreting these sounds. “Well, there’s no use in putting him to needless trouble; I’d better go in and have a few words with him—if I can open the door.”
Fortunately he found that he could; the door swung in, and a man, who stood under a light examining some papers at a table, lifted his head. He put a handkerchief to his lips and coughed; then he nodded.
“How do you do?” said he.
Mr. Scanlon was equally polite.
“I felt that I’d see you again,” stated he. “But I had no idea it would be to-night.”