"You see, there is nobody," Miss Pilgrim was saying.
The citizens, faithful to the trial, had crowded in. The policeman grunted doubtfully.
Waters, easing his breath noiselessly, let his eyes wander. The streak of light lay across the floor and up over the counterpane of a narrow wooden bed, then climbed the wall across the face of a picture to the ceiling. Beyond its illumination, there were dim shapes of a dressing-table and a wash-hand-stand, and there were dresses hanging on the wall beside him behind a sheet draped from a shelf. A window, high and double-paned, gave on the courtyard. Through it he could see the lights shining in curtained windows opposite.
"That?" It was Miss Pilgrim answering some question. "That is my bedroom. No; you must not go in there!"
There was a hush and a citizen said "Ah!" loudly and knowingly.
Waters, listening intently, frowned.
"I must look," said the policeman curtly.
"But" her voice came from near the door, as though she were standing before it, barring the way to them, "you certainly shall not look. It is my bedroom, and even if your man had come here" she broke off abruptly. "You see he is not here," she added.
"I must look," repeated the policeman in exactly the same tone as before. "It is necessary."
"No," she said. "You must take my word. If you do not, I shall complain tomorrow morning to the consul and to the Chief of Police and you shall be punished."
"H'm!" The policeman was in doubt; she had spoken with a plain effect of meaning what she said, and a policeman's head upon a charger is a small sacrifice for a courteous Chief to offer to a lady friend. He tried to be reasonable with her.