I ascended the stairs, and made my way through the
drawing-room on to the terrace. The place was deserted, but I had
scarcely walked to the farther end, before I heard the soft trailing of a
woman's skirt close at hand. I looked up eagerly, and she stepped out
from the drawing-room. For a moment she hesitated. I remained motionless.
I could do nothing but look at her. She wore a black evening dress--net I
think it was, with deep flounces of lace. Her neck and arms were
dazzlingly white in the half light; her lips were a little parted as she
stood and listened. Her whole expression was natural, almost childlike.
Suddenly she dropped the curtain and came swiftly towards me.
"Well," she said softly, "now that I am here, what have you to say to
me?"
I was horribly tempted to say things which must have sounded unutterably
foolish. With an effort I restrained myself. I addressed her almost
coldly.
"Miss Van Hoyt," I said, "I want to know whether you are the only woman
in this hotel who uses--that perfume."
She took out her handkerchief.
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