Frowning slightly, he wondered at this. It brought memories with its fragrant essence. Years before, somewhere, he had known that peculiar sweetness. It lifted him, and brought to his mind what he had missed in life’s great game.
Stepping forward, he moved amid the furniture of the room, caught his directions by instinct, which is given to animals and prowlers, and passed through a double door whose panels, down to the rugs, were tiny crystals of glass.
He reached the opposite side of the villa from which he had entered. He opened a catch and raised a window so that a hand-hold was between the sash and sill. Satisfied that he had two avenues of escape, he went back through the door of cut-glass and stood in the center of the first room.
Gradually, his eyes brought out the splendid details of the furnishings. Soft pillows mounded box-couches and cozy nooks. Tapestries and portières hung along the walls. A dark-wood stand was at his right hand. Upon this was a cloisonné tea set and a lacquer tray.
The gold arabesques of the tray came through the gloom. A dragon stared at him.
“Nice place,� he thought. “One of these hundred pounds a year affairs.�
He felt then, rather than heard, the movement of a curtain at the front of the room. A slight chill swept through the air. It was as if someone had swished by.
Fay, alert and crouching, blinked his eyes in the direction of the danger. He lowered his hands and half turned toward the window by which he had entered the room. It was too late. A switch snapped upon the wall. A blinding glare sprang from a score of frosted bulbs. The cluster overhead seemed to explode with light. The room and all its details were revealed within the time of two seconds.
A woman stood between the portières which separated the front parlor from the room with the bay. A pair of very determined eyes flashed over the blue-steel of a medium-calibre revolver of superior make. Above the eyes was a pink night cap. Beneath the extended arm, which was as steady as a marksman’s, Fay saw the soft sheen of a pair of pajamas which were partly hidden by a belted bathrobe.
He neither backed away nor changed color. He never had feared a gun. He stood, half turned away from the menace of the revolver. His eyes accustomed themselves to the blinding light. His hand raised and bunched his plaid cap from his silver-gray hair. He bowed as the woman lowered the revolver and let it dangle at her side.