She had opened the door.
"I'll see you to your room," he said.
"No," she answered; "I'm not frightened any more. Good—good-night, guardy."
"Good-night, Polly," he said.
The door closed.
Captain Francis Newcombe stood in the darkness. And for a moment he did not move—but the mask was gone now, and the laughter that came low from his lips was a mirthless sound, and the working face was black with fury. And then he turned, and with a bound was back in the bedroom, and snatching at his clothes began to dress.
There was still an hour to daybreak.