“At the head of the first flight of stairs, said my friend the wine agent,” thought Kenyon. “But I wonder upon which side.”
At the head of the stairs all was black; he paused and listened once more. Then the tiny beam of light flashed here and there. At the left was a door partly ajar. The light died, and he took a noiseless step forward. He could not see the door, now, but trusted to his judgment of distance to place his hand upon the knob. But his hand was yet reaching out, when the hinges of the door began to creak slowly in the silence. He grew as rigid as a statue, for every instinct told him that he was standing face to face with someone in the darkness.
XV
KENYON IN A NEW RÔLE
“Take plenty of time. Keep cool. Don’t make a sound.”
—The Advice of Big Slim.
For a moment Kenyon literally held his breath. There was no movement, though his ears were strained to catch any sound.
“Whoever it is,” he thought, “they are standing, listening, the same as I am.”
With the greatest possible caution he drew back a step; the soft felt creepers prevented any noise and he exercised the greatest care that there should be no rustling of his clothing. He had retreated three or four steps when he touched the opposite wall; and as he stood listening he caught the creaking of the door once more, as though the unknown had opened it wider. Then there came a faint fall of footsteps, gentle and guarded; and through the thick darkness came the trembling whisper:
“Who’s there?”
Kenyon made no sound. There was a silence; then he heard a deep, long-drawn sigh—the sigh of one who has been waiting and listening. Then the whisper came once more—a woman’s voice.