And at that moment in a complete silence the Saint heard the soft pad of footsteps outside that suddenly broke into the sharp rap of knuckles on the door.
It was one of the servants who looked in in answer to Quintana's summons.
"There are some people downstairs," he said in Spanish. "They will give no names, but they say you are expecting them."
"How many?" asked Quintana without ceasing his measured rocking in his chair.
"Four."
"Let them come up."
The tension was back in the room, under the surface, evident in the slight motions which Urivetzky and Perez made. Only the Saint did not stir from his reclining position; but his left hand, on the arm of the chair, imperceptibly tested the effort that would be necessary to raise him quickly out of it.
There was only one light in the room, he noted — a single bulb hung from the ceiling under a painted parchment shade. As he was lying back he could see under the shade straight to the bulb beneath.
Quintana turned to Perez.
"Search them before they come in," he said.