"I must get my portmanteau," said Cranston.
He walked across the hallway and disappeared for a moment. He came back, lugging a heavy suitcase which he set down with a thump.
"All ready," he announced. "Let us close the big box; then we can see if the truckmen are here." The millionaire stooped before the box Savette looked at the man's face in the light.
Cranston was comparatively young, but his face seemed rather old. It was almost masklike, the physician noted, as though his features were formed from an artificial mold — a smooth surface over a visage beneath.
The physician's hands were in his coat pockets. They moved restlessly; then paused as Cranston stepped away from the box and turned toward him.
"Sure you do not want to take more?" questioned the millionaire. "This box will hold a great deal—"
"It is rather well filled," said Savette.
"Listen!" Cranston held up his hand for silence. "Can that be the truck you ordered?"
"I expect so," said Savette. "I left word for it to pull up outside and wait."
"Perhaps you had better make sure," said Cranston. "Wait — I can go downstairs." He turned toward the door of the den, but Savette stopped him.