She returned to her room, and this time she closed her window. Once, before she went finally to sleep, she rose and, peeping through the curtains, saw the little glowing point of the watcher’s cigar, and went back to bed comforted, to sleep as if it were only for a few minutes before Foss began knocking on the doors to waken the company.
The literary man himself was the first down. The garden was beginning to show palely in the dawn light, and he bade Michael Brixan a gruff good morning.
“Good morning to you,” said Michael. “By the way, Mr. Foss, you stayed behind at Griff Towers yesterday to see our friend Penne?”
“That’s no business of yours,” growled the man, and would have passed on, but Michael stood squarely in his path.
“There is one thing which is a business of mine, and that is to ask you why that little white disc appears on Miss Leamington’s window?”
He pointed up to the white circle that the girl had seen the night before.
“I don’t know anything about it,” said Foss with rising anger, but there was also a note of fear in his voice.
“If you don’t know, who will? Because I saw you put it there, just before it got dark last night.”
“Well, if you must know,” said the man, “it was to mark a vision boundary for the camera-man.”
That sounded a plausible excuse. Michael had seen Jack Knebworth marking out boundaries in the garden to ensure the actors being in the picture. At the first opportunity, when Knebworth appeared he questioned him on the subject.