It wasn’t a reassuring thought that he had been groping about the room solely to find my bed. My muscles set for a desperate leap in case I felt him groping nearer.... There was a long, ominous instant of silence. Then a little triangle of light danced out over my table-top.
It was a ray from a flashlight, and it came and went so soon that there was no chance to make accurate observation. I did, however, see just the edge of his hand as he reached for something on the flat surface of the table. It was a white, strong hand—long, sensitive fingers—evidently the hand of a well-bred, middle-aged man.
The light flashed out. Steps sounded softly on the floor. Then my door closed with a slight shock.
There is no use trying to justify my inactivity during his presence in the room. At such times a man is guided by instinct—and my instinct had been to lie still and let him do his work. The action might condemn me in some eyes, but I felt no shame for it. And as soon as the door closed I sprang to the floor.
Groping, I found the light, and the white beams flooded the room. Presently I opened the door and gazed down the gloomy hall.
It was still as a tomb. There were a dozen doors along it, and any one of them might have closed behind the intruder. It was the hall of a well-ordered country manor, rather commonplace in the subdued light of a single globe that burned over the stairway. The opportunity to overtake the intruder was irredeemably past.
It wasn’t hard to tell what had been taken. The sheet of parchment, on which was written the mysterious cryptogram, was gone from the table. The only satisfaction I had was that the thief had failed to see and procure the copy of the document I had made just before retiring.