"Step inside here," he whispered; "quickly!"
I obeyed him, and in an instant he had entered a similar one. We were
scarcely there before I heard the sound of a key in the door. Through a
chink in the curtain I saw Miss Blanche. She pushed back the latch and
stood for a moment as though listening, her face turned toward the stairs
up which she had come.
If I had had any doubt but that tragedy was afoot that morning it would
have been banished by a glance at her face. She was terribly pale; her
hands were shaking. Rapidly she withdrew the pins from her hat, hung it
upon a peg and smoothed her hair in front of the looking-glass. Then,
though her hands were trembling all the time, she filled a bowl with hot
water and arranged a manicure set on a little table.
Once or twice she stopped to listen. Once, as though drawn by some
fascination she was powerless to resist, she moved to the window and
looked down into the street. Mr. Bundercombe remained motionless and I
followed his example. At the back of my cubicle was a window from which I
could still gain a view of the pavement. The streets were thronged with
people, and I noticed that the motor car, which at first I had missed, was
standing in a side street, almost opposite.
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