She looked around it again. There were remarkably few places of concealment. None, indeed, except the old-fashioned mahogany wardrobe. She looked at it with disfavor, but finally opened one of the heavy mirrored doors and stepped up into it. The few dresses offered little concealment. And there was only one way out. And Jim had said something about danger. But she didn’t think of all that until she had settled herself to wait.

Not an easy wait. For the space was narrow and cramped, the air not too good in spite of the small opening she had left to enable her to see into the room, and a sense of danger, like a small red signal, became more and more marked. Danger in that muffled, orderly house. Danger—danger.

Minutes dragged on and Susan’s muscles were numb and cramped. Suppose no one came. Suppose Rosina had decided on another course. But she wouldn’t. And they knew, too, that Susan’s own departure was imminent. Susan’s eyes were blurred from staring too long and too fixedly at that crack of light. She closed them wearily.

And it was then that someone entered the room. Entered it so stealthily, so furtively that Susan felt only the faint jar of footsteps on the old floor.

Her heart pounded in her throat and her eyes were glued again to that crack.

And too late she realized that the wardrobe itself might be the objective.

Suppose the door should suddenly, silently open—suppose the very torrent of her thoughts betrayed, telepathically, her hiding place. Suppose—something passed across Susan’s range of vision and obscured for an instant that crack of light.

Obscured it. And then was gone as silently, as swiftly, as it had come. But not too swiftly for recognition.

It was a long ten minutes before Susan dared move and open the door and, cautiously, emerge from her hiding place.

It was not difficult to find what she sought. The pungent odor of bath salts guided her. The jar was closed again, but it had been opened and disturbed.

She was cautious, too, in returning to her own room.

Now then, to get away. At once. Without fail.

Would they let her leave? She tossed her things in her bag and closed it; put on her coat. Knotted a yellow scarf with trembling hands and pulled her small brown hat at a jaunty angle over her light-brown hair. She looked pale and frightened. And was. But they had told her to go; at least Durrie had.

On the stairway she could hear their voices coming from the drawing-room.

Susan braced herself and entered.

And she need not have brace herself for it was all very simple and easy. They agreed that if Miss Dare felt that she could do no more and wished to go, she must go. They were very grateful to her. Her advice had relieved them greatly (this only from Miriam).