Paget arose and began slowly to pace the floor.
“That’s more like it, Wilbur,” he said. “But there’s nothing real about this menace. Shadows and dreams; then more — shadows!” He pronounced the last word in a hollow whisper.
Blake stared hard at the wall and began to twist the point of his moustache. It was a habit he had acquired from practicing the part of the man whose place he had taken.
“Forget it — for tonight,” said Blake suddenly. “Go get some sleep and don’t worry. I’ll think this over. Maybe I can help you.”
UPSTAIRS in his room, Rodney Paget stared from the window, watching the long, swaying shadows of the trees. He began to feel the calmness of the moonlight. He went to bed and drowsed away.
Half-awakening, he fancied that he heard a noise. He overcame his alarm and became more restful. Then he awakened suddenly.
He felt a strange sensation of some one close by. It seemed as though a person had lifted the pillow upon which his head was resting.
Quickly Paget thrust his hand under the pillow. He gripped a small object. It was the scarab ring which he always kept with him. Then his fingers touched the handle of his automatic.
Holding the weapon, he sat bolt upright.
A soft tapping came from the door.