"
There was a brief period of silence. Then, the door opened, and
Mary Turner entered the office. She walked slowly forward,
moving with the smooth strength and grace that were the proof of
perfect health and of perfect poise, the correlation of mind and
body in exactness. Her form, clearly revealed by the clinging
evening dress, was a curving group of graces. The beauty of her
face was enhanced, rather than lessened, by the pallor of it, for
the fading of the richer colors gave to the fine features an
expression more spiritual, made plainer the underlying qualities
that her accustomed brilliance might half-conceal. She paid
absolutely no attention to the other two in the room, but went
straight to the desk, and there halted, gazing with her softly
penetrant eyes of deepest violet into the face of the Inspector.
Under that intent scrutiny, Burke felt a challenge, set himself
to match craft with craft. He was not likely to undervalue the
wits of one who had so often flouted him, who, even now, had
placed him in a preposterous predicament by this entanglement
over the death of a spy.
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