Nick found that Kate Crandall’s suite was the last in the side corridor. He paused at the door and listened, hearing nothing, and he then crouched and peered through the keyhole. He could see a thread of light under an inner door, which precluded hearing voices from within, and he then knocked sharply on one of the panels.
There was no response.
Nick waited a few moments, then knocked again, which had the desired result. The door was opened by the woman he was seeking.
She was not conventionally clad for receiving visitors. Her fine figure was enveloped in a voluminous woolen wrapper. Her feet were thrust into a pair of worsted slippers. She appeared to have been on the verge of getting ready for bed. She drew back with a look of surprise on her darkly handsome face.
“Goodness!” she exclaimed. “I thought one of the hall-boys knocked. What do you want?”
“An interview with you,” Nick tersely informed her. “Don’t pretend, Miss Crandall, that you do not recognize me. A woman never forgets the face of a person she dislikes.”
“I did not so pretend,” Kate retorted. “I knew you immediately, Mr. Carter, but I cannot imagine why you want an interview with me.”
“I will presently inform you,” said Nick. “May I come in?”
“Certainly.”
“You are alone?”