d to be a dressing-table with a mirror
suspended between two spiral posts. Grasping one, Clo pulled the table
closer, till it refused to move. This gave a lever on which she might
depend. She clung to the curtain and post, till she could plant first
one knee, then its fellow, on the window sill. It seemed an easy thing
to do, and would have been easy had not her strength been nearly spent.
Her quivering muscles responded slowly to this last call, but they did
respond. Soon she was kneeling on the window sill. Then one foot was
over, groping for the floor. She had just found it when a key grated in
a lock, and before she could hide behind the curtains a door opened
wide. A flood of light streamed in from the corridor, and outlined her
white form against the blue background of the night.

XV

THE NUMBER SEVENTEEN

To go back meant death, and the loss of Beverley's papers. Besides, she
had been seen. For once, Clo's wits refused to work. Like a frozen
flower, she remained motionless in the window.

The figure in the doorway was that of a man. The light coming from
behind made his face a blank for her eyes, but the girl saw that he was
taller than O'Reilly and of a different build. Perhaps it was the owner
of the suite, he who had gone out with the beautiful woman. The man made
no move. He stood in the doorway as if rooted to the floor. "My God!"
Clo heard him mutter.

"The fool takes me for a ghost," she thought. "Now's my chance, before
he plucks up courage!"

Down came the other white shoe on the carpet with no more noise than a
rose-petal falling. Then followed a second of indecision. Should she
risk pushing the man aside, and fleeing past him into the hall? No, her
touch would break the spell. She must go on with the ghost-play, and
vanish in the dark!

Light from outside showed her the open door of an adjoining room. Thence
came the draught which had set the curtains blowing. Clo took a few
floating steps toward the man, then dodged aside, and disappeared into
the room beyond. Softly she closed the communicating door and slid the
bolt. Almost opposite where she stood opened a cross passage leading to
a wing of the hotel. With a bound she reached it, not daring to look
behind, yet listening with the ear of the hunted for the hunter, as she
ran. Coming to a staircase the girl plunged down it two steps at a time.
On the floor below, however, she ventured to moderate her pace. This was
the dinner hour; mo