Gabriel hesitated. Some inkling, some vague intuition all at once had come upon him, that all was not well. At his elbow some invisible force seemed plucking. "Come away! Come back, before it is too late!" some ghostly voice seemed calling in his ear.
But still, he did not fully understand. Still he remained there, his mind obsessed by the plausibility of the woman's story and by the pity he so keenly felt.
And now he heard her voice again:
"Mr. Micolo! Oh, Mr. Micolo! Where are you?"
Striking a match, he advanced into the room.
"Any gas here?" he asked, peering about for a burner.
Suddenly he started with violent emotion. Behind him, in some unaccountable way, the door had been closed. He heard a key turn, softly.
"What—what's this?" he exclaimed. He heard the woman moving about, somewhere in the gloom. "See here!" he cried. "What kind of a—?"
The match burned brightly, all at once. He peered about him, wide-eyed.
"This is no office!" shouted he. "Here, you! What's the meaning of this? This is a bed-room!"