“Oh!” cried the girl, “you frightened me! You frightened me! What do you want here ... in this horrible room?”
She was trembling. One slim hand plucked nervously at her dress. Her breath came and went quickly.
“I saw the curtain move. I thought it was the wind at first. But then I saw the outline of your fingers. And I imagined it was he ... come back ...”
“Miss Trevert,” said the boy abashed, “I must have frightened you terribly. I had no idea it was you!”
“But why are you hiding here? How did you get in? What do you want in this house?”
She spoke quickly, nervously. Some papers she held in her hand shook with her emotion. Bruce Wright stepped to the desk and turned the bulb of the reading-lamp down into its normal position.
“I must apologize most sincerely for the fright I gave you,” he said. “But, believe me, Miss Trevert, I had no idea that anybody could gain access to this room. I climbed in through the window. Bude told me that the police had taken away the key ...”
The girl made an impatient gesture.
“But why have you come here?” she said. “What do you want?”
The boy measured her with a narrow glance. He was young, but he was shrewd. He saw her frank eyes, her candid, open mien, and he took a rapid decision.