"Yes," she agreed quietly, "we'll go upstairs." She turned to the servant at the door. "When my husband comes in," she told him, "you will say that Captain von Klausen and I are awaiting him in my--in the sitting-room of the suite that my husband and I occupy." For a reason that neither could have explained they did not speak on their way to the room, and, after they had entered it, von Klausen shutting the door behind them and switching on the electric light, this silence continued until it became almost committal. Muriel laid off her wraps and sank into a wide chair at some distance from the window. It was she that was first to speak. She spoke, however, with an effort, and she sought refuge in platitude. "I am tired," she said; and then, as von Klausen did not reply, she added: "Yes, after all, I find that I am very tired." "It has been," said the Austrian, "a difficult day for you." There was again silence. He stood before her, slim, erect, more boyish than ever, his face, none the less, rather pale and set, and his eyes narrowed. "I wonder what can have happened to Jim," she at last managed to say. "Only what has happened to us. He--I think he will be here soon." Von Klausen was looking at her. She wished that he would not do that. She wished that there would be an end to these interruptions of silence. She wished devoutly that Jim would return. "It--it is rather close here," she said. "Do you think it close?" he responded. He did not take his narrowed eyes from her. He did not move. "Yes," she answered. "Will you--will you be so good as to open the window?" He bowed as gravely as if she had required of him a mighty sacrifice, and he turned to the window. The long velvet curtains were pulled together, and he did not attempt to draw them from the glass. Instead, he simply slipped his arm between them. Then something went wrong with the knob that controls the bolt. He shook the knob. His hand slipped and went through the pane. There was a tinkle of falling glass. Startled by the sound Muriel rose quickly to her feet. "What is it?" she asked. She took an involuntary step forward. Then she saw that von Klausen was trying to conceal from her his right hand, red with blood. "You are hurt?" she cried. Her swarthy cheek whitened. There was a swift catch in her throat. "It is nothing," he answered. "The window is open." The window was indeed open. The curtain, however, remained drawn. "But you are hurt!" repeated Muriel. She put out her hand and seized his own with a slight gash across the knuckles--a gash from which a little of the blood flowed over her white fingers and marked them with a bright stain.