Mrs. Hale crossed the drawing-room and stood before the large gilt-framed wall mirror which gave her a full length view of her figure. It took several minutes to rearrange a bow of ribbon and several pieces of jewelry, after which Mrs. Hale proceeded leisurely to the third floor. She did not often climb to that height, and, on reaching the head of the stairs, she paused to take breath, then, passing down the broad hall, she turned the knob of a closed door and entered a semidarkened room.
It took her several seconds to pull up the Holland shades of the dormer windows and flood the bedroom with sunlight. When she turned around she saw a man sitting on the edge of the bed watching her. A slight scream broke from her and she swayed dizzily. With a bound the man gained her side.
“Don’t be frightened, Mrs. Hale. It is only I, Detective Ferguson,” he explained. “I thought you saw me when you first entered the room.”
Mrs. Hale shook her head as she sank into the chair he placed for her.
“Dear me,” she exclaimed, “I declare you gave me quite a turn. I had no idea I should find any one in Austin’s bedroom.” Resentment against its cause conquered her fright in some measure and she whirled on him. “What are you doing here?”
“I might ask the question of you,” he retorted coolly seating himself opposite her.
“Upon my word!” Mrs. Hale continued to stare at him. Then, as he evinced no desire to address her, her manner changed. “I heard you were in the house,” she began, ignoring his question as he had hers; “and I intended to ask you not to leave until I had seen you.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes.” Mrs. Hale’s manner was graciousness itself. “And I am glad to have this opportunity for a private interview.”
“Yes?” Ferguson resorted to brevity while striving to divine a reason for her sudden change of manner.