Dropping the arm that poised the knife, he let himself down easily from tiptoe and turned squarely to Gladwin.
“Good evening, Officer,” he said without a tremor, showing his teeth in as engaging a smile as Travers Gladwin had ever looked upon.
“Evenin’!” said Gladwin, shortly, with an admirable affectation of Phelan’s brogue.
“Do you find something on the balcony that interests you?” said the other slowly, still holding his smile and his amazingly confident bearing.
“You climbed up there to enjoy the moonlight, perhaps?” he added, even more softly, gaining reassurance from the wooden expression that Gladwin had forced upon his features.
“No, not the moonlight,” responded the uniformed similitude of Officer 666, “the other light. I seen ’em go on. This house has been closed for months.”
“Oh, yes, to be sure,” the other shrugged. “You’re 174 most alert, Officer––right on the job, as they say. I congratulate you.”
“I’ve been watching this house ever since Mr. Gladwin went away,” said Gladwin slowly, unable to make up his mind whether to call Phelan or to continue the intensely interesting dialogue.
His visitor decided the situation for him by coolly lighting a cigar, taking a few deliberate puffs and turning it over in his fingers to inspect it as if it were the only object worth attention in the room.
Gladwin read this elaborate by-play for what it was worth––an effort to decide just how best to play his part––and was pleasantly thrilled with the realization that he himself was so well disguised in the uniform of Officer 666.