already satisfied in this matter—Lanyard conducted the woman to this door and stopped.
Her hand fell from his arm. She faltered on the threshold of Stateroom 27, eyeing him dubiously.
"Thank you, monsieur …?"
There was just enough accent of enquiry to warrant his giving her the name: "Duchemin, mademoiselle."
"Monsieur Duchemin … Please to tell me how you knew this was my stateroom?"
"I occupy Stateroom 29. There was no one in 27 till after the tender came out last night. Furthermore, your face was strange, and I have come to know all others on board during our week's delay in port."
The light was at her back; he could distinguish little of her shadowed features, but fancied her a bit discountenanced.
In a subdued voice she said, "Thank you," once more, a hand resting significantly on the door-knob. But still he lingered.
"If mademoiselle would be so good as to tell me something in return?"
"If I can. …"
"Then why, mademoiselle, did you try my door last night?"
"It was neither locked nor bolted on my side. I wished to make sure"
"So one fancied. Thank you. Good-night, mademoiselle …?"
She was impervious to his hint. "Good-night, Monsieur Duchemin," she said, and closed the door.
