“She’s gone,” he murmured. He hung up and turned to the doctor.
“I am at the present moment unable to decide, Hugo, which of you is entitled to the credit of being the world’s greatest blundering idiot, you or Lieutenant Norton. But possibly it may turn out to be I. So we’ll wait.”
He seated himself calmly and, his face grown imperturbable, lighted a cigarette and stared at the indignant scientist.
CHAPTER XIV
ACT II
The burning-eyed visitor—An old favorite—Amateur theatricals—“Light the candles!”—In which Julien De Medici reveals himself as an effective playwright.
They had been sitting for fifteen minutes in silence. De Medici finally spoke. He had grown nervous and catlike, his eyes furtively caressing the curtains of the room, his ears strained for sounds.
“She should be here now,” he said. “It’s only fifteen minutes’ walk.”
Dr. Lytton grunted and said nothing. A savage light was in his eyes.
“Are you sure Florence will sleep?” De Medici pursued.
The doctor disdained answering.