The House of the Falcon
Having assured herself of this, she glanced down, wondering what the native could have been doing in the room. A thief, perhaps, she thought. Yet his bearing had been more bold than furtive, and certainly he had tried to take nothing with him in his flight.
Quickly she glanced around the room, with a woman's keen eye for details in a strange house. She saw neat disorder. Trophies—fine heads of mountain sheep and elk—hung from the walls. Twin collections, European and native, of weapons were ranged systematically on either side of the stone fireplace in which a blaze crackled cheerily.
Comfortable wicker chairs, bookshelves filled with much-used volumes, green cotton curtains—all this was quite homelike.
On the window seat under her eyes stood a bamboo box filled with a varied assortment of objects: some stained clothing, a tarnished telescope, a notebook carefully tied up, and a volume of poetry. On the clothing was pinned a slip of paper.
"Belongings of Donovan Khan," she read.
The two words did not seem to fit; the "khan" did not match with "Donovan." Beyond this there was nothing unusual in box or contents. Edith, perceiving this, felt a trifle embarrassed, as if she had been spying unwittingly on another person.
Probably, she reflected, the big native was a servant of the place—one who was not allowed in the front portion of the house. Edith, unfamiliar with the customs of the people of Srinagar, did not wish to play the part of a busybody. It was quite a trivial thing, she thought And she said nothing at dinner that evening to the major about the scarred native.
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