He could not imagine, however, what
had directed the attention of the organization to Sir Charles,
and for what reason his death had been decided upon.
He rolled his cigar from corner to corner of his mouth, staring
reflectively with lack-lustre eyes at the silent house before
him. In the moonlight it made a peaceful picture enough. A
cautious tour of the place revealed a lighted window upon the
first floor. Standing in the shadow of an old apple tree, Nicol
Brinn watched the blind of this window minute after minute,
patiently waiting for a shadow to appear upon it; and at last his
patience was rewarded.
A shadow appeared--the shadow of a woman!
Nicol Brinn dropped his cigar at his feet and set his heel upon
it. A bitter-sweet memory which had been with him for seven years
arose again in his mind. There is a kind of mountain owl in
certain parts of northern India which possesses a curiously high,
plaintive note. He wondered if he could remember and reproduce
that note.
He made the attempt, repeating the cry three times. At the third
repetition the light in the first floor window went out. He heard
the sound of the window being gently opened. Then a voice--a
voice which held the sweetest music in the world for the man who
listened below--spoke softly:
"Nicol!"
"Naida!" he called. "Come down to me. You must. Don't answer. I
will wait here."
"Promise you will let me return!"
He hesitated.
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