But all that day he had been oppressed by a sense of hidden yet continual espionage.

This feeling had followed him from the moment he had landed in Genoa.

He had tried to argue it down, inwardly protesting that such must be merely the obsession of all fugitives.

And now, even to find an unknown and innocent-appearing young woman trying to force an entrance into his room aroused all his latent cautiousness.

Yet a moment later he felt ashamed of his suspicions.
"Why, this is room Forty-one," she cried, over his shoulder.