There arose a trampling of feet in the hallway; and she heard Maitland's voice like a far echo, as he bade the police good night. And distant and unreachable as he seemed, the sound of his words brought her strength and some reassurance, and she grew slightly more composed. Yet, the instant that he had turned away to talk to the cabman, her fright of that unspeakable and incorporeal menace flooded her consciousness like a great wave, sweeping her—metaphorically—off her feet. And indeed, for the time, she felt as if drowning, overwhelmed in vast waters, sinking, sinking into the black abyss of syncope….
Then, as a drowning person—we're told—clutches at straws, she grasped again at the vibrations of his voice…. What was he saying?
"You will wait outside, please, until I come out or send somebody, whom you will take wherever directed…."
——Speaking to the cabman, thinking of her, providing for her escape!
Considerate and fore-sighted as always! How she could have thanked him!
The warmth of gratitude that enveloped her almost unnerved her; she was
put to it to restrain her impulse to rush down the stairs and….
But no; she must not risk the chance of rebuff. How could she foretell what was in his mind and heart, how probe the depths of his feeling toward her? Perhaps he would receive her protestations in skeptic spirit. Heaven knew he had cause to! Dared she…. To be repulsed!…
But no. He had provided this means for flight; she would advantage herself of it and … and thank him by letter. Best so: for he must ever think the worst of her; she could never undeceive him—pride restraining and upholding her.
Better so; she would go, go quickly, before he discovered her absence from the flat.
And incontinently she swung about and flew down the stairs, silently, treading as lightly on the heavily padded steps as though she had been thistledown whirled adrift by the wind, altogether heedless of the creeping terror she had sensed on the upper flight, careless of all save her immediate need to reach that cab before Maitland should discover that she had escaped.
The door was just closing behind the cabby as she reached the bottom step; and she paused, considering that it were best to wait a moment, at least, lest he should be surprised at the quickness with which his employer found work for him; paused and on some mysterious impulse half turned, glancing back up the stairs.
Not a thought too soon; another instant's hesitation and she had been caught. Some one—a man—was descending; and rapidly. Maitland? Even in her brief glance she saw the white shield of a shirt bosom gleam dull against the shadows. Maitland was in evening dress. Could it be possible…?