The Vanishing Point

mate kind of tapping, like the signaling of a woman to her lover. It would cease for a minute, so that he began to hope that he was to be left in quiet; then it would recommence. He sat obstinately at bay, almost holding his breath, not daring to move lest he should betray that he had noticed. He was determined not to admit this new disturber. He had had enough of danger warnings and revengeful husbands. The only danger that he greatly dreaded was the loss of a second night's rest. The sound was getting on his nerves. It was so ir- ritatingly discreet and importunate. At first he had tried to believe that his caller was a hotel employee, but a servant would have taken silence for an answer a good five minutes ago. If it had been any one whohad a right to be there, the tapping would have been bolder. Whoever it was, it was some one who had correctly estimated his mood. Tap-a-tap, tap-a-tap. An interval, and then, tap-a-tap. Getting stealthily to his feet, he tiptoed to the threshold and flung wide the door. "I beg your pardon." He caught her arm as she stumbled back. "I guess I startled you." "Shish!" She pressed a finger to her lips. "Let me inside, so that I can sit down." Giving her his arm, he led her to a chair. Having returned and closed the door, he surveyed her at his leisure. She had the appearance of a peasant woman dressed in her Sunday best, yet so great was her dignity, she did not seem out of place in her surroundings. She was ...