She had detected a movement in the mirror. The hall door was opening—slowly, gently, noiselessly, inch by inch. Fascinated, dumb with terror, she watched. She saw the hand that held the knob—a small hand, thin and fragile; then the wrist, then part of the arm.... A head appeared in the opening, curiously suggesting the head of a bird, thinly thatched with hair of a faded yellow; out of its face, small eyes watched her, steadfastly inquisitive.
Almost mechanically she replaced the receiver on the hook and turned away from the wall, stretching forth her hands in a gesture of pitiful supplication....
XI
THE COLD GREY DAWN
“Well?” snapped Iff irritably. “What’re you staring at?”
“You,” Staff replied calmly. “I was thinking—”
“About me? What?”
“Merely that you are apparently as much cut up as if the necklace were yours—as if you were in danger of being robbed, instead of Miss Landis—by way of Miss Searle.”