Taking paper and pencil, the old man began to write. Sidney Delmuth was watching him, feigning careless interest.
Actually he was intently keyed upon the words that the old man's hand was forming: He is behind the screen. We will trap him. Remember the plan.
Close the door softly when you leave. I expected this. I noticed that the screen had been moved — saw it the moment I entered.
Delmuth folded the sheet of paper and placed it in his pocket. As he turned toward the door, his eyes glanced sidelong at the screen.
Jeremiah Benson's ruse had worked. The turning on of the wall lights had caused a dull glow to shine through the thin cloth screen, from the wall brackets behind.
Dimly visible in that filtered light was the crouching silhouette of a human figure!
Sidney Delmuth closed the door as he went out. It did not latch. Delmuth had wedged a wad of paper into the latch socket when he had come in with Benson.
In the deserted hall, Delmuth drew a revolver from his pocket. He placed his hand upon the knob of the door.
In the apartment, Jeremiah Benson stepped through the door that led to his bedroom.
There, in darkness, the old man drew an automatic.