That discovery, however, only appeared to increase his thirst.

He opened the hall door, prepared to descend into the depths of the house and raid a sideboard; and as he thrust his heavy head out into the lighted corridor his eyes fell upon two figures standing at the open door of a bedroom.

One was Siward; that was plain.

Who was the girl he had kissed?
One of the maids?
Somebody's wife?
Who?
Every dull pulse began to hammer in Mortimer's head.

In his excitement he stepped half-way into the corridor, then skipped nimbly back, closing his door without a sound.
"Sylvia Landis, by all that's holy!" he breathed to himself, and sat down rather suddenly on the edge of the bed.
After a while he rose and crept to the door, opened it, glued his eyes to the crack, in time to catch a glimpse of Siward entering his own corridor alone.
And that night, Mortimer, lying awake in bed, busy with schemes, became conscious of a definite idea.