“I didn’t see her reeking,” admitted Mr. Superbus, confused.
“I wonder you didn’t—those heavy perfumes are almost visible. And there was no scent of Origon in the room—no fresh scent, anyway.”
It was still dark when she drew up the blind and looked out. She felt very wide awake without knowing exactly in what manner her activity might be best employed.
“Take this key, go up into Uncle Isaac’s room, open the door quietly and see if he is there. And then get out—quick!”
Julius did not like that word “quick!” Climbing the stairs leisurely, he listened at the door of Uncle Isaac’s room. There was no sound. Which was satisfactory. On the other hand, the very stillness might be ominous. Mad people are notoriously cunning. He remembered gruesome stories he had heard of cat-footed maniacs who had crept up behind their guards and cut their throats with pieces of old iron secretly sharpened.
Julius Superbus drew a long breath. The blood of his Cæsarian ancestors ran a little coldly; the pumping station under his left-hand waistcoat pocket increased its thump noisily. Again he listened. If Uncle Isaac was asleep, he would make no noise. Therefore, if there was no sound, he must be asleep. He went downstairs again.
“Sleeping like an innocent child,” he reported, “one ’and under his cheek an’ a sort of smile on his face.”
She took the key from his hand and looked at it.
“You went in?”
“Right in,” said Julius, sunning his back at the fire. “Put on the light, had a good look around.”