What would his alarming the whole establishment
matter to _me_ after I had got rid of the compromising presence of my
guest?
Returning to the yard I heard a sound like the creaking of an open door on
its hinges. The gate of the north entrance I had just closed with my own
hand. I went round to the west entrance, at the back of the stables. It
opened on a field crossed by two footpaths in Mr. Fairbank's grounds. The
nearest footpath led to the village. The other led to the highroad and the
river.
Arriving at the west entrance I found the door open--swinging to and fro
slowly in the fresh morning breeze. I had myself locked and bolted that
door after admitting my fair friend at eleven o'clock. A vague dread of
something wrong stole its way into my mind. I hurried back to the stables.
I looked into my own room. It was empty. I went to the harness room. Not a
sign of the woman was there. I returned to my room, and approached the
door of the Englishman's bedchamber. Was it possible that she had remained
there during my absence? An unaccountable reluctance to open the door made
me hesitate, with my hand on the lock. I listened. There was not a sound
inside. I called softly. There was no answer. I drew back a step, still
hesitating. I noticed something dark moving slowly in the crevice between
the bottom of the door and the boarded floor.
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