She, too, had been watching Paul Capel’s actions, and now that he turned to her she seemed to shrink back in her seat, as if his coming troubled her.
“Let me congratulate you, Mr Capel,” she said, rather coldly.
“Thank you,” he said with a sigh; and she saw him glance in the direction of Katrine.
“I think,” said Mr Girtle, loudly, “that we will now proceed to fulfil the next part of my instructions.”
There was a sharp click heard here, as he locked a little padlock on the tin box, and Gerard Artis watched him, thinking what a little there was between him and the obnoxious will.
“Miss D’Enghien, Miss Lawrence, will you kindly follow me? Ramo, lead the way.”
It was like going from one gloom into another far deeper, as the door was thrown open, and Ramo led the way along the short, wide passage, bearing a silver candlestick, whose light played softly on the great stained window when he stopped, and illuminated the bronze club of the centaur, still raised to strike.
The eyes of Gerard Artis were fixed upon the tin box containing the will—the keen look of Katrine D’Enghien on the old Indian servant, as he took a key from his cummerbund—while Paul Capel gazed, with his soul in his glance, on Katrine, ignorant that, with spirit sinking lower and lower, Lydia was watching him.
The solicitor gave a glance around full of solemnity and awe, as if to ask were all ready. Then, as if satisfied, he made a sign to Ramo.
The Indian raised the candlestick above his head, softly thrust in the key, turned it, and threw open the door, when once more, from the darkness within, the strange aromatic odour floated forth.