"Then supposing I take one on this left side," I suggested.
"Yes, the delft blue room," he agreed. "That's as good as any."
"Blue's more my color," I said, as I started up the stairs again.
I don't know whether he believed me or not. I didn't even care. I was too tired to worry over it. But weary as I was, I was at least wide enough awake to know that I stood face to face with a new mystery.
For in the bed of the cream and gold room of that empty house there was a young woman lying, fast asleep.
And remembering that, I not only locked my door and wheeled a dressing-table across it, but I also laid out Wendy Washburn's pearl-handled Colt, on what looked like a Louis-Seize vitrine of hand-painted glass standing close beside the bed. For I intended to sleep, even though I had to shoot a dozen mysterious females to do it!
