Bab - A Sub Deb - Page 32/77

When I had stopped shivering I went to his desk. There were a lot of

letters on the top, all addressed to him as Grosvenor. It struck me

suddenly as strange that if he was only visiting, under an assumed name,

in order to see me, that so many people should be writing to him as Mr.

Grosvenor. And it did not look like the room of a man who was visiting,

unless he took a freight car with him on his travels.

THERE WAS A MYSTERY. All at once I knew it.

My letter was not on the desk, so I opened the top drawer. It seemed to

be full of bills, and so was the one below it. I had just started on the

third drawer, when a terrable thing happened.

"Hello!" said some one behind me.

I turned my head slowly, and my heart stopped.

THE PORTERES INTO THE PASSAGE HAD OPENED, AND A GENTLEMAN IN HIS EVENING

CLOTHES WAS STANDING THERE.

"Just sit still, please," he said, in a perfectly cold voice. And he

turned and locked the door into the hall. I was absolutely unable to

speak. I tried once, but my tongue hit the roof of my mouth like the

clapper of a bell.

"Now," he said, when he had turned around. "I wish you would tell me

some good reason why I should not hand you over to the Police."

"Oh, please don't!" I said.

"That's eloquent. But not a reason. I'll sit down and give you a little

time. I take it, you did not expect to find me here."

"I'm in the wrong apartment. That's all," I said. "Maybe you'll think

that's an excuse and not a reason. I can't help it if you do."

"Well," he said, "that explains some things. It's pretty well known, I

fancy, that I have little worth stealing, except my good name."

"I was not stealing," I replied in a sulky manner.

"I beg your pardon," he said. "It IS an ugly word. We will strike it

from the record. Would you mind telling me whose apartment you intended

to--er--investigate? If this is the wrong one, you know."

"I was looking for a Letter."

"Letters, letters!" he said. "When will you women learn not to write

letters. Although"--he looked at me closely--"you look rather young for

that sort of thing." He sighed. "It's born in you, I daresay," he said.