Carnes leaves his speech unfinished and gazes anxiously at me, while I sit long and silently studying a pictured face.
By-and-by I close the book and replace it upon the table.
One vexed question is answered; I know now why the white, angry face of Adele Manvers has haunted me as a shadow from the past.
I arise and pace the floor restlessly; like Theseus, I have grasped the clue that shall lead me from the maze.
After a time, Carnes goes out to inform himself as to the movements of Blake and Dimber Joe.
Midnight comes, but no Carnes.
The house is hushed in sleep. I lock the door, extinguish my light, and, lowering myself noiselessly from the window to the ground, turn my steps toward the scene of the afternoon revel.