AN INTRUDER
Rizzio halted. “Yes, other agencies” he replied significantly. He bowed in the girl’s direction and sitting on the window-sill he threw his feet outside. “I bid you good night.” And carefully feeling for his footing he slowly descended.
Cyril Hammersley followed him to the window, and Doris took a step in his direction, when her thinly slippered foot touched something in the wooden floor—something which slid upon the polished surface from the shadow into the moonlight. Instinctively she glanced down and then started—scarcely restraining a gasp. There, unmistakable in the shape and color for so many hours graven on her mind, was a yellow packet of Riz-la-Croix cigarette papers. She glanced at Cyril, who was closing the casement window, then stooped and, picking up the packet, fled noiselessly into her room and quickly locked the door.
