THE MISSING HEART


There came a sudden blare of music from the great ballroom below, and the
woman who stood alone at an open window on the first floor shrugged her
shoulders and shivered a little. The night air blew in brisk and cold
upon her uncovered neck, but except for that slight, involuntary shiver
she scarcely seemed aware of it. The room behind her was brilliantly
lighted but empty. Some tables had been set for cards, but the cards were
untouched. Either the attractions of the ballroom had remained
omnipotent, or no one had penetrated to this refuge of the bored--no one
save this tall and stately woman robed in shimmering, iridescent green,
who stood with her face to the night, breathing the chill air as one who
had been on the verge of suffocation. It was evidently she who had flung
up the window. Her gloved hands leaned upon the woodwork on each side of
it. There was a certain constraint in her whole attitude, a tension that
was subtly evident in every graceful line. Her head was slightly bent as
though she intently watched or listened for something.

Yet nothing could have been audible where she stood above the hubbub of
music, laughter, and stamping feet that rose from below. It filled the
night with uproar. Nor was there anything but emptiness in the narrow
side-street into which she looked.

The door of the room was ajar and gradually swinging wider in the
draught. Very soon it would be wide enough for anyone passing in the
passage outside to spy the slim figure that stood so motionless before
the open window. It was almost wide enough now. Surely it was wide
enough, for suddenly it ceased to move. The draught continued to eddy
round the room, stirring the soft brown hair about the woman's temples,