“Hush! I seem to be getting into deeper trouble than that, Garry. I have changed my residence so many, many times!—but every time people get into my room when I am away and ransack my effects.... And now I never enter my room unless the landlady is with me, or the janitor—especially after dark.”
“Good Lord!——”
“Listen! I am not really frightened. It isn’t fear, Garry. That word isn’t in my creed, you know. But it bewilders me.”
“In the name of common sense,” he demanded, “what reason has anybody to annoy you——”
Her hand tightened on his:
“If I only knew who these people are—whether they are agents of the Count d’Eblis or of the—the French Government! But I can’t determine. They steal letters directed to me; they steal letters which I write and mail with my own hands. I wrote to you yesterday, 148 because I—I felt I couldn’t stand this persecution—any—longer——”
Her voice became unsteady; she waited, gripping his hand, until self-control returned. When she was mistress of herself again, she forced a smile and her tense hand relaxed.
“You know,” she said, “it is most annoying to have my little love-letter to you intercepted.”
But his features remained very serious:
“When did you mail that letter to me?”