Someone was in the room,
too. He heard the scuffle of a foot, the sound of a chair scraping on
the floor. He stood rigid in the darkness of the dining-room,
straining his ears to catch another sound.
For a long time he could hear only muffled undertones which, while they
told him that there were two or more persons in the room, gave him no
clue to their identity. And then, as he moved closer to the door, he
caught a laugh, low, but clear and musical.
It was Betty's! He had heard it often when she had been talking to
Dade; she had never laughed in that voice when talking to him!
He halted in his approach toward the door, watching the light under it,
listening intently, afflicted with indecision. At first he felt only a
natural curiosity over the situation, but as he continued to stand
there he began to feel a growing desire to know who Betty was talking
to. To be sure, Betty had a right to talk to whom she pleased, but
this talk behind a barred door had an appearance of secrecy. And since
he knew of no occasion for secrecy, the thing took on an element of
mystery which irritated him. He smiled grimly in the darkness, and
with infinite care sat down on the floor and removed his boots. Then
he stole noiselessly over to the door and placed an ear against it.
Almost instantly he heard a man's voice.
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