A ball of crushed paper at his feet attracted his attention. He kicked

it absently, followed and picked it up, his thought on other things.

He was aimlessly smoothing it out when an English word caught his eye.

English! He smoothed the crumpled sheet and read: If you find this it is the will of God. I have been watched

for several days, and am now convinced that they have always

known I was here but were leaving me alone for some unknown

purpose. I roll this ball because anything folded and left

in a conspicuous place would be useless should they come for

me. I understand. It is you, poor boy. They are watching

me in hopes of catching you, and I've no way to warn you not

to come here. It was after I sent you the key that I learned

the truth. God bless you and guard you!

STEFANI.

Hawksley tore the note into scraps. Food and sleep. He walked toward the

kitchen, musing. What an odd mixture he was! Superficially British, with

the British outlook; and yet filled with the dancing blood of the Latin

and the cold, phlegmatic blood of the Slav. He was like a schoolmaster

with two students too big for him to handle. Always the Latin was

dispossessing the Slav or the Slav was ousting the Latin. With

fatalistic confidence that nevermore would he look upon the kindly face

of Stefani Gregor, alive, he went in search of food.

Not a crust did he find. In the ice-chest there was a bottle of

milk--soured. Hungry; and not a crumb! And he dared not go out in search

of food. No one had observed his entrance to the apartment, but it was

improbable that such luck would attend him a second time.

He returned to the bedroom. He did not turn on the light because a novel

idea had blossomed unexpectedly--a Latin idea. There might be food on

some window ledge. He would leave payment. He proceeded to the window,

throwing up both it and the curtain, and looked out. Ripping! There was

a fire escape.

As he slipped a leg over the sill a golden square sprang into existence

across the way. Immediately he forgot his foraging instincts. In a

moment he was all Latin, always susceptible to the enchantment of

beauty.

The distance across the court was less than forty feet. He could see the

girl quite plainly as she set about the preparation of her evening meal.

He forgot his danger, his hunger, his code of ethics, which did not

permit him to gaze at a young woman through a window.




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