He changed the direction of the light; Donnegan watched him, fascinated.
"But what convinced you that I wished to keep you here?"
"To amuse you, Colonel Macon."
The colonel exposed gleaming white teeth and laughed in that soft, smooth-flowing voice.
"Amuse me? For fifteen years I have sat in this room and amused myself by taking in what I would and shutting out the rest of the world. I have made the walls thick and padded them to keep out all sound. You observe that there is no evidence here of the storm that is going on tonight. Amuse me? Indeed!"
And Donnegan thought of Lou Macon in her old, drab dress, huddling the poor cloak around her shoulders to keep out the cold, while her father lounged here in luxury. He could gladly have buried his lean fingers in that fat throat. From the first he had had an aversion to this man.
"Very well, I shall go. It has been a pleasant chat, colonel."
"Very pleasant. And thank you. But before you go, taste this whisky. It will help you when you enter the wind."
He opened a cabinet in the side of the chair and brought out a black bottle and a pair of glasses and put them on the broad arm of the chair. Donnegan sauntered back.
"You see," he murmured, "you will not let me go."