If some one sprang at me and tried to crack my
head or stab me,--stabbing was popular hereabouts,--I was in a state of
armed preparedness. But when I stepped inside I found an empty room, a
bed in which no one had slept.
Grown brazen, I strode across to the inner door and opened it. More
emptiness greeted me; the four men had plainly taken French leave in
their gray car. It was strange that the hum of their departure had
not roused me; they must, before starting the motor, have pushed their
automobile from the courtyard and out of ear-shot down the street.
For a moment I stood in the deserted room, reflecting swiftly. The
situation was desperate; in another hour the inn would be stirring, and
Miss Falconer, I felt sure, could not afford to be found here when that
came to pass. Murder investigations are searching things. All strangers
beneath this roof would be interrogated narrowly. If any one had a
secret,--and she certainly had several,--the chances were heavy that it
would be dragged to light.
For some reason this prospect was unspeakably frightful to me.
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