His companion thought he was no longer intent. Yet Paget had lost none of his alertness. He was watching something on his dim floor — a huge shadow that lay motionless, projecting inward from the window.
Paget’s eyes never left the floor. His companion wondered, but made no comment. Two minutes went by. The only action in the room was that of Paget’s hand as it lifted the cigarette holder to and from his lips.
The black splotch that lay on the floor was motionless.
Paget arose. He walked toward the door. He turned and his eyes sought the floor. Still they saw no motion in that shadowy blot, yet Paget was sure that its position had changed.
The shadow had receded. The clubman gave no sign of his discovery. He walked to the door and placed his hand upon the knob. Then he swung about.
The black blot was moving now, drawing toward the window, shrinking into nothingness. Paget watched it, expecting it to stop. Instead, it disappeared with amazing suddenness.
With quick strides, Paget pounced across the room and reached the open window. His companion joined him. The man started to speak, wondering if Paget had gone suddenly insane. The clubman brushed him back.
“Keep away!” exclaimed Paget, as he leaned from the window.
BELOW him was a courtyard at the side of the building. A light from the street showed nothing but the rough brick wall of the old house. To the left was a corner, barely six feet away. There was no window directly below; the nearest was twenty feet to the right.
“The back of the house!” exclaimed Paget. “Do you have a window there?”