“This is infamous!” Leila turned upon the hearth rug and faced him, her head proudly erect to meet the menace in his eyes. “You were eavesdropping, spying upon me in your insane, unfounded jealousy and suspicion! Why did you not follow me as well? Then you would have learned the truth for yourself!”
“It was not necessary. It was sheer accident that I came upon you at the telephone, but I did not have to dog your footsteps to learn the truth. My judgment was better than yours; I knew that you would walk into the first trap I set for you, that you would give yourself into my hands. And you have!”
“You will unlock that door and permit me to go now, if you please.” The quiet dignity of her tone was filled with cold contempt. “You are beside yourself; I will not listen a moment longer to your wild accusations, your insults! I have offered to explain, but you said it was too late. Take care that you do not make it forever too late!”
Storm read disdain in the defiance of her eyes, mockery in the faint curl of her lips, and his swift resolve crystallized.
“It is you who have made it too late! Take that damnable smile from your lips, do you hear?” As he advanced toward her his outflung hand touched something smooth and hard, and closed upon it. “I tell you I’ve caught you, I’ve found you out! You’ve had your hour, you and the man for whom you deceived me! I’ll settle with him later, but now you’ll pay!—Damn you, stop smiling!”
Blindly in the sudden unleashing of his rage he struck, and the small, colorless face with its tantalizing, disdainful curl of the lips vanished as though the red swirling mist which rose again before him had closed over it and blotted it out.
No sound reached him at first but the drumming of the pulse in his ears and his hoarse, sobbing breath as he stood swaying, tearing with one free hand at the collar which seemed tightening about his throat. Then gradually for the second time the lurid haze lifted, and as the space before him cleared a great trembling seized him.
“Stop smiling! Stop smiling! Stop smiling!”
What queer, grating whisper was that which repeated the words endlessly over and over in unison with the throbbing in his brain? Dimly he became aware that it issued from his own lips and moved his hands up from his throat to still the sound.
His other hand still grasped the smooth, hard object upon which it had closed in that moment of vengeance, and now he gazed down stupidly upon it. It was a driver, one of that collection of golf clubs from the table, and upon its glittering, rounded, hardwood knob was a smudge of red . . . .